Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

August 2013 - July 2014

Chapter 1: Midnight Ride

It’s not a date, that’s for sure.

Dean’s never been particularly good at “proper dates”, attributes his failings (one of many) to how his life had been when he started dating. At 15 he didn’t have that many options, or money. If he was lucky he’d get the car, buy a bag of popcorn and two sodas at the local drive in and make out in the front seat of the car while grizzly murder took place on screen above them.

More often, he wasn’t lucky, and instead, he’d just keep his dates from doing their homework, making out in the library, empty classrooms, the gym after hours.

To the girls (the boys were easier, most of them never admitting that they might actually enjoy Dean’s company and thus fine with fumbles in the school toilets, the locker rooms, under the bleachers) this was exciting the first five or six times, and by number seven, he was out of there anyways, lounging in the backseat of the Impala with Sam, off to make new memories.

So if he’s not a wine ‘em and dine ‘em kind of guy that’s not his fault. Even Lisa hadn’t been an exception - they hadn’t really dated at all, he had just suddenly found himself in her tidy yellow house on White Picket Fence Lane, cooking meals for her and Ben, straightening pillows and throwing a comforter over the cream colored bed sheets.

Regardless, he knows that this is not a date.

For one thing, it's Cas. For another, they’re both sweaty, their jeans and boots covered in cemetery dirt and bone dust. They’ve just exhumed, salted and burned the corpse of a nineteenth-century widow who had been wreaking havoc on cheating husbands all over the area.

He gets it, no one likes a cheater, but she was escalating, straying from those who had cheated to those whom she thought might, those who looked too long at the babysitter’s legs, the secretary’s hemline, the waitress’s boobs.

Cas had been a surprising asset; he’d turned out to be very handy with a shovel and a lighter, an expert in loading salt rounds into the rifle and a more than decent shot.

He half-remembers discussions with Sam about pulling civilians into “the business”, the Sasquatch protesting vehemently against any kind of involvement of unkowning others, but Cas isn’t really unknowing, or other, and Dean also doesn’t really care, because Sammy isn’t here and he’ll only find out much later (if at all). 

So now they’re sitting, drinking beers on the fairly charming Keystone cemetery, enjoying the view. It’s pleasant, quiet, the summer afternoon warm but not hot. Cas smiles at him and something flutters in his stomach.

Maybe, he thinks, it would be nice if this were a date, if they’d driven out here just because it’s a beautiful place, to see the sunset, to drink some beers, to drive back home, then kiss on the couch, go to bed. Dean has thought about this before (a lot) but now that he’s single, now that Cas knows almost everything, he’s gone from thinking about him in the shower to wondering what it would be like if they would be together.

But he knows that he's being stupid, because what the hell would Cas want with someone like him. He’s continuously astounded that Cas even wants to be friends, so the idea that they could ever be anything beyond that is ridiculous.

So he squashes that little flutter and stretches, downs his beer.

Chapter 2: Wonderful, Wonderful

Sam moves back into his old room at the beginning of August. He comes with a small U-Haul attached to his sensible little car, and Dean helps him move his things (a few boxes of books and clothes) up the stairs. Sam’s taking a sabbatical and Dean waggles his eyebrows, asking if Eileen knows that she’s paralyzing important research.

Cas had gladly given up his study for Sam’s return, taking both his desk and chair out of the room and into the garage. His books and papers now live in the den and it feels even more like his home (their home), with his things all throughout the house. There are even pictures of him on the downstairs wall, one of him and Dean shoulder to shoulder, he’s wearing a cowboy hat and fireworks are exploding behind their backs, another of him at Thanksgiving with Bobby and Donna, everyone smiling.

In the evening, Eileen comes over and they all sit on the porch, drinking beers and eating, before heading out to Harvelle’s. It feels like family and he wonders why this is so different (so much more like what he’s always wanted) to the life he shared with Santi.

At Harvelle’s he watches Dean flirt with one of the new waitresses, and it annoys him, the ease with which Dean can turn it on and off, how he leans into her, all smiles and charm, fingers briefly on her bare forearm.

He turns away, leaves them to it.

Later he drives home with Eileen and Sam, while Dean stays behind.

Chapter 3: Blue Jeans

They’re in the middle of a late August heat wave. Dean is wearing cut-off jeans that hit the middle of his thighs and Cas has lost all power (and will) to look at anything else.

Sam is sitting on the living room floor sorting through old photos, his hair lifting and falling in the artificial breeze of the house’s only fan. Dean had chuckled tiredly at Castiel’s question about AC.

Sam has made several remarks about Dean’s shorts, all derogatory, and Cas almost tells him to shut up but Dean seems to not care at all and just chucks random items in Sam’s direction every time he opens his mouth.

Dean’s thighs are muscular and lean, two faded tattoos scrawled across the skin above his knees.

Sam had also laughed about these, which is why he knows that the right leg reads Sodapop and the left Ponyboy. Sam had then told the story of Dean’s first tattoos, the stick and poke he did at 14 with a friend, how their father had yelled at Dean for at least half an hour, with Dean sitting in his underpants, arms crossed, at the kitchen table, scowling.

Despite how faded they are, they contrast with Dean’s fair skin that looks like it hasn’t seen the sun in for ever. It makes Cas want to take Dean with him to California, sit with him on the beach, watch his skin turn golden, his hair blond.

Beneath the tattoos on and around his knees, Dean’s skin is heavily freckled, dots of light brown spilling down his left shin in particular, pooling around a long scar on the back of his calf.

Cas resists the urge to brush his fingers across them, to count each and every one.

He’s probably going insane. This must be how it starts, he thinks, with hyper-fixation.

He looks up and meets Sam’s gaze and Sam knows, he has to know, and Cas feels his face heat up. He abruptly stands and asks “Dinner?”

Dean grunts from his place on the couch and offers a thumbs-up while Sam snorts and turns back to his photos.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean smiles up at him and he’s suddenly struggling to breathe. He happily (and sadly) leaves the living room to get his phone, fleeing from Dean’s legs and Sam’s smile.

Chapter 4: California Dreaming

They’re sitting across from each other at Billie’s drinking coffee. He’s so glad that Sam is here, having Sam around every day seems like a godsend; he’s easy to talk to, he puts things into perspective.

“I got a job offer from Berkley.” Sam is the first person he’s told.

Sam laughs. “That’s amazing, Cas.”

“Yes. They want me to head that project on the Supreme Court, work on a five-year legal observation. Particularly now, with Obama’s second term starting.”

“Wow.” Sam leans back, still smiling. “That’s so great. KU actually did what it was supposed to.”

“Yes. I would have to move.”

He taps his spoon against the side of the mug, then puts it down on the table.

Sam stares at him. “You’re going to though, right? This is your dream job.”

“Probably. It’s … complicated.”

“How is it complicated?”

He shrugs. “I like it here.”

He doesn’t say it but apparently, he doesn’t have to, Sam knows what he means and he looks a little surprised, and Cas feels bad, like he’s sprung something on Sam that should have had more preparation.

“You’d stay for Dean?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know. He’s,” he pauses. “He’s … important to me.”

“I think,”Cas starts, then looks out of the window. The sky is a brilliant blue.

“I think,” he starts again, “that I might be in love with him.”

It’s out, finally, and he looks up at Sam, takes a sip of his coffee. Feels a certain degree of relief.

Sam sighs. Smiles a little.

“You’re not surprised?” It’s almost a question but not quite.

“No. Not really. Are you going to tell him?” Sam asks.

“Yes.” He shakes his head. “I should. I will.”

They’re both quiet.

“It’ll change things. I know you’re friends, and you very clearly mean a lot to him, but I don’t know how he’ll deal with that.” Sam looks vaguely worried.

Castiel shrugs again. “I’m thinking about it. About both. Telling Dean and going to Berkley.”

“Ok.” Sam nods. “I mean I guess, knowing Dean, you might have to move to Berkley after you tell him.” He makes a Sam face, nose scrunched up and mouth pulled awkwardly upwards at the left corner, and sighs.

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

They leave it at that.

Chapter 5: Lost in the Supermarket

He catches up with Dean and Sam in the baked goods aisle when Time of My Life starts playing on the store radio and Dean grins and points at Sam who rolls his eyes.

Dean starts singing along almost immediately, only stopping to offer “Swayze always gets a pass!”

Sam snorts.

It seems to Cas that they’ve had this exchange multiple times in their lives and he watches Sam shake his head and Dean continue to sing and sway his hips up and down the aisle.

There’s a couple, probably in their mid-twenties, who can’t take their eyes off Dean, and really, Cas can’t blame them. Dean is in a dark red flannel and jeans, and he looks carefree and utterly charming while prancing and singing around his younger brother, gyrating his hips inappropriately and twirling.

Dean smiles wide and gives Sam the finger and somehow there’s nothing more important in the world than Dean singing in the supermarket, smiling, happy.

Chapter 6: Night Moves

They meet in a bar, Dean moonlighting as FBI.

He’s asking questions about a cluster of disappearances on campus. He’s alone because Benny is pretending to be a researcher, which is just as well. Benny makes a surprisingly bad FBI agent, his drawl and loose shoulders, his perpetually flirty aura a dead giveaway that they’re not what they purport to be.

Sometimes (always), he wishes fervently for Sammy, remembers that year just after Jessica died, when Sam couldn’t deal with anything except hunting monsters and digging up graves; when Dean did what any responsible older brother would do, dragging Sam out of California and driving back and forth across the United States again and again, hunting, eating burgers, sleeping in skeevy motels and getting his brother laid.

It had helped, somehow, and after 14 months Sammy had slowly found back to himself, had decided to go back to Stanford, and complete law school. And while Dean wants nothing more than for Sam to be happy and successful, having him around was the best. And Sam had been an expert at pretending to be FBI (Benny claims it’s in how he holds himself. Dean personally thinks that it’s Sam’s whole being, that he radiates competent empathy. Benny says he’s full of shit.)

All of that aside, Benny still makes a bad FBI agent, which leaves Dean going solo into this bar.

He’s interviewing two girls when he looks up and catches a dark-haired man staring at him. Dean looks again and he’s seen him before, twice even, which creeps him out because campus isn’t that big.

So he cuts the interview short and approaches the man who’s sipping some sort of drink with an umbrella that Dean wouldn’t be caught dead drinking but which does look pretty delicious.

Dean flicks his badge and introduces himself.

“Special Agent Bolan. This is the second, maybe third time I’m seeing you today? Why you following me, Gingerbread?”

There’s an awkward look away and then brown eyes are looking up at him.

“So we … we didn’t have a thing back there, huh?”

“Back where? What now?” Dean sputters. It’s been a long time since anyone has flirted with him (because surely that’s what this is?), and it catches him off guard.

The guy smiles shyly. “I’m sorry man. I thought, I thought we had a thing back at the quad, you know - a little ‘eye magic’ moment, and I saw you here and I figured I’d wait until you were done with your meeting and then maybe we might, uh…” The dude’s eyes are huge and brown and Dean is somehow reminded of Bambi but sexy and that’s a disturbing thought he doesn’t want to follow.

Feeling vaguely lightheaded, he replies “Yeah. Uh. Okay, but no, uh, no moment. This is a federal investigation.” He swallows.

“Is that supposed to make you less interesting?” The younger man smiles again, then catches himself “No. I’m sorry, man.”

Dean can feel his face heating up and his brain is going 100 miles per minute trying to figure out what he should do. The guy is cute, and clearly flirting, and Benny can get a different room at the motel. It should be cut and dry but suddenly in the middle of all of this, he thinks of Cas, the way he waved him off three days ago, in old jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, how he’d made him a thermos of coffee for the drive.

Dean frowns. Looks back at the man who is still talking. Apologizing.

“I hope I didn’t freak you out or anything.”

“No. No. I’m not freaked out.” He stutters which makes things worse in all ways. “It’s just …”

Just what he asks himself. That I have a crush on the dude who lives in my house? And says instead “a federal thing. It’s uh … ok. Citizen.”

His phone rings and he stares dumbly at the screen and then back at Gingerbread. “As you were.”

Gingerbread has raised both eyebrows at him and is smirking. “You have a good night,” he says.

In walking away, Dean turns around and says “You … you. Have a … okay,” and walks into a table.

He feels like an absolute train wreck of a person and almost yells into his phone at Benny as soon as he’s out of the bar.

The case turns out to be slightly less boring than anticipated, more protracted, and they end up staying in town for another three nights, doing more research, looking through stacks of old newspapers, disappearances that go back to the founding of the college.

He sees Gingerbread once more but only a glimpse in the afternoon, he’s leaving the library and it’s not too big of a loss, Dean guesses, because to be honest he’s kind of stuck on the whole love sick puppy narrative at the moment and why would he want to interrupt that when he’s just getting good at it.

But then on their last night in town, Dean runs into Gingerbread again, and it’s not an ordinary run in, instead, it’s in the middle of the night, guns drawn against each other in the morgue.

Turns out Gingerbread’s name is Aaron, and he is not only very good at flustering Dean, he’s also a hunter and kind of a badass. They finish the case together, the three of them, guns blazing, salt rounds firing.

The next morning, they talk over coffee and breakfast.

Aaron is funny and charming, sipping coffee in a green cardigan, his eyes bright. Dean listens to him talk, how he became a hunter, watches his fingers dance over the tablecloth, laughs at his snarky remarks. They exchange phone numbers and Aaron promises to visit when he’s in Kansas next.

Dean doesn’t think much about it and is thoroughly surprised when, a month later, Aaron shows up at Winchester Auto in a blue 1985 Buick LeSabre, which is pretty damn cool.

He’s happy to see him, even though Aaron, in slacks and a button-up coat, looks 100% too fancy to be anywhere near him.

Aaron had been working a case near Hutchinson, home of the infamous Hamburger Man (a ridiculous urban legend if there ever was one, Dean thinks), of a Woman in White which had turned out more depressing than usual. Aaron says he’d planned on coming to see him either way but after the case he’d really felt the need for a friendly face.

Dinner feels like a date, and apparently not only to him; when they’re done with dessert, Aaron grins and asks him if he can see his house.

Aaron is an exceptional kisser, and for a small dude, he’s lithe and powerfully built under his silly clothes. They kiss in the hallway, on the stairs, Aaron flush against him and it’s exciting in ways that Dean’s almost forgotten. Later, in his room, he’s amazed again and again by the rasp of stubble on the insides of his thighs, by strong fingers pressing into his skin, by hands able to hold him in place.

They fall asleep draped over and against each other, and he sleeps solidly until his alarm goes off at 6 am.

He tells Aaron between kisses to stay as long as he wants, there’s coffee in the kitchen and maybe food, he isn’t sure, but he’ll be back by mid-afternoon and they can definitely hang out some more.

Chapter 7: Space Oddity

Cas is working from home today and he’s making coffee when the kitchen door opens. He expects Sam, or maybe Dean, but is met with a brown-eyed man he’s never seen before.

“Oh, hello. Sorry. Aaron.” The man looks a bit flustered, reaches out a hand, seems to think better of it and puts it awkwardly into his pocket.

“Hello. Castiel. Who are you.” The question is stupid, repetitive.

“Aaron.”

They’re at an impasse and he doesn’t know where to go from there.

“I mean, what are you doing here.” The question is better, more straightforward. Much like this conversation is not.

“Oh.” Aaron blushes. “I uhm, I was sleeping over?” It leaves his mouth a question and Cas stares at him.

“You what?”

The door opens and Sam comes in in sweats and fuzzy socks and a big hoodie and Cas briefly wonders if he’s somehow fallen through a rabbit hole and entered crazy land.

Sam stops short. “And who are you?”

“Aaron,” Aaron offers, resigned.

"He was sleeping over,” Cas supplies.

“Ok?” Sam’s voice is incredulous and he stares at Cas. “Why?”

And then it clicks.

“You were sleeping over. As in you’ve been sleeping here with Dean.” Even saying the words, Cas can’t quite wrap his head around them.

“Yes.” Aaron looks vaguely mortified and very confused and like he regrets every step that has led him here into this kitchen.

“You were sleeping with Dean.”

Cas repeats himself, dazed. This conversation is horrendous, in so many ways, and he hates all of it. Aaron looks appalled and he himself feels off-kilter, like he’s slowly floating away from his body.

Dean is sleeping with Aaron. Sleeping with men. He’s stunned but also not, not really, but it’s still so much, too much, for him to understand. He feels suddenly like he has to recontextualize their interactions, Dean’s eyes on his mouth, Dean’s back against his legs, Dean cooking him dinner, Dean leaning into him in the backseat of his car, Dean taking him to the rodeo, Dean merging their books in the living room, Dean sitting in on his class. Dean’s stupid plastic headband.

All of it has new meaning, and he knows that he’s fucked things up by ignoring his own feelings and by labeling Dean with the equivalent of straight-man duct tape. Then he looks back at Aaron and realizes he needs to speak.

“Sorry. Sorry, I apologize.” He splutters. “I’m gay.”

Aaron stares at him. “Ok?” Then at Sam who looks like he’s close to having a nervous breakdown.

“I just… I assumed Dean was straight. But here you are.” Cas nods, then looks at Aaron, then at Sam.

“You’re sleeping with my brother?” Sam’s voice is unnaturally high.

“Yes,” Aaron mutters.

“Do you want coffee.” Cas’s voice is very loud and he grabs a mug and fills it with coffee and thrusts it at Aaron. Aaron stares at the mug and takes it, says thank you.

“How did you even meet.” Sam is still staring. “Dean isn’t gay.”

Aaron just looks between both of them and then shrugs, squares his shoulders and seems to make a decision.

“This seems like it’s a family thing you should discuss with Dean. I’m gonna drink my coffee upstairs and then go. Tell Dean I’ll call him … even though, despite of this.” He waves a general hand at the kitchen.

“Ciao.”

And with that he disappears into the hallways and up the stairs, leaving Cas and Sam alone in the kitchen.

Chapter 8: The Miseducation of Dean Winchester

Cas feels like he has spent the whole day thinking about Dean and Aaron and Aaron and Dean, deflecting questions from Sam, but trying to think if he himself has ever had an inkling that Dean has a thing for men. He refuses to name it, refuses to think about Dean’s sexuality past Aaron and what that means, and what it means for him. Because it doesn’t mean anything. Just because Aaron has been here in the house overnight doesn’t mean that Dean likes men more generally. It can’t mean that because if it does, then Dean has been flirting with him, and he’s been oblivious to it. And he’s possibly the dumbest person on earth.

Cas doesn’t want to be part of this inevitable conversation but Sam has asked him to be there because for whatever reason he seems to think he needs support. So he finds himself sitting in the kitchen, waiting, when Dean blusters in.

“Hey. Pizza?” Dean lifts the lid of the uppermost box and grins. Then stops immediately.

“Who died. Is Bobby ok?”

Great start, Cas thinks and sighs.

“No one died Dean,” Sam offers.

“Ok. So why the face.” Dean leans backward against the counter. “Can I already eat a slice? Or are we waiting for…?”

“Sure,” he says and Dean grabs a slice of pepperoni.

“So. We uhm, we met Aaron.” Sam fidgets.

“Ok. And.”

“Well.”

Dean has raised an eyebrow.

“He said that he’d slept over.” Sam looks intensely uncomfortable now.

“Yeah.”

Dean suddenly smirks. “What are you asking Sammy.”

“I just. Aaron is a dude.”

“True. What about it.”

“You slept with Aaron.”

Cas suppresses a small groan and defensively grabs a slice of pizza from the second carton, puts it on a plate. Why is here.

“Yes. We had a grown-up sleepover.” Dean grins and wiggles his eyebrows.

Sam stares.

Cas takes a bite of his slice.

“You’re having sex with men?”

“Well, just one currently. Just Aaron.” Dean finishes his slice and licks his fingers. “I’ll have another one. Slice I mean. Not man.” He grins. He’s clearly enjoying this.

Cas wonders for the thousandth time today how he could have not known that Dean sleeps with men. How he figured out the monsters, the ghosts, but not this. He wonders if he’s so prejudiced that he saw Dean with Lisa, with other women, in his flannel shirts, with his stupid car, and just expected Dean to be straight. (He thinks suddenly that he needed Dean to be straight, because otherwise what would he have done.)

“I thought you knew,” Dean says.

“How?” Sam’s voice is abnormally loud. “You’ve been sleeping with girls and women for forever. What even. You’re? You’re so macho.” Sam is spluttering.

“Are you having an existential crisis, Sammy? I thought you were an ally.” Dean grins, licks a string of cheese into his mouth.

“I AM,” Sam yells.

Dean laughs again, then sighs and gets serious.

“Listen, Sammy. I like girls. I like dudes. I like whatever. Have liked them all for forever. I just thought you knew. I never made a secret out of it. I guess, when Dad was still around, I kept a lower profile, never brought any guys home cause I didn’t want to deal with whatever brand of bullshit Dad was inevitably going to pull. But I was never ashamed, Sammy. It’s how it is.” Dean shrugs.

Cas would love to be invisible right now, feels so bad about this forced outing.

Sam looks at Dean. “I didn’t … I wasn’t implying that you should be ashamed Dean. I’m just. Surprised.”

“Clearly.” Dean snorts.

“I just want you to be happy.”

Dean rolls his eyes and gestures with a third slice of pizza. “No chick flick moments.”

Sam looks exasperated. Then, “Victor Henrickson? Lee? Gordon what’s his name?” Dean grins.

“Benny?”And Sam looks genuinely freaked out.

Dean makes a face. “Dude, just because I like dick doesn’t mean I can’t have dude friends, ok?” He shakes his head. “Is this over? Can we have a normal night now?”

Then Dean turns to him and Cas actively prays for invisibility.

“What about you Cas, any follow-up questions?”

He splutters. “No.”

“I think you’re very attractive by the way. I mean if that wasn’t obvious already.” Dean licks his lips and grins at him and, dear lord, he hates it, hates this whole day. Hates that Dean is still flirting with him and that now he can’t do anything about it.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“You’re welcome. Those blue eyes, devastating.” Dean grins but there’s something blank in how he looks at him. Then, “Ok, anyone wanna watch a movie or go for beers?”

He wants neither but feels like maybe, just maybe, beers would help in this situation and so he nods. “A beer, yes.”

“Awesome. Sammy?”

“Ok, sure.”

They drive to Harvelle’s in his truck and he drinks five beers. He hasn’t been drunk in what feels like forever. Sam has to take them home, all of them in the front seat, Dean singing at the top of his lungs, windows down, his body too close, too warm.

Chapter 9: Southern Comfort

They become a thing, or as much of a thing as two hunters from different parts of the country can be, and it makes Dean happy.

Happy to have someone that he can bitch to on the phone, to have someone who knows about rugarus and werewolves, who doesn’t laugh at his dream of encountering a ghoulpire, someone who’ll voluntarily drive 10 hours to see him because he’s “working a case near by”. He even meets some of Aaron’s friends, non-hunters, who are sweet people who accept him almost immediately. It’s a good few months, he even gets Aaron a Christmas - or rather Chanukah - present, and life around Cas gets a little easier as well.

He’s still surprised, caught off guard, when he comes upon Cas after running, his cheeks flushed, his blue eyes so blue they look like little pieces of summer sky.

He joins Aaron on a hunt in West Virginia, in New Hampshire. Then down in Florida. They spend an extra day at Disney World, eating overpriced churros and riding roller coasters. Aaron buys him a pair of ears and in the evening they drive up the coast and into Georgia.

They sleep in the car, far from the nearest highway, and watch the moon travel across the starry sky.

Sex with Aaron is losing himself in being handled, in being pushed backward, in being arranged against the leather of the backseat.

Dean doesn’t prefer this but it satisfies something that hasn’t been addressed in a long time.

Georgia turns out to be a fertile hunting ground and they stay for three weeks, pursuing civil war ghosts and teaming up with Talulah Wilson, a hunter who lets them crash at her house, and gives Dean copies of Cherokee texts to take back to Bobby’s.

In a way, these weeks are all that he has ever wanted, driving, hunting, fucking. Sleeping either in the car, folded against each other, or in motel rooms, sharing a queen-sized bed.

In the evenings, or when Aaron drives, he texts Cas back home, and he misses him, sometimes absurdly so, but it’s a small price to pay for having what he wants, at least that is what he tells himself.

Chapter 10: What You’ve Been Waiting For

It ends, because of course it does, in early March.

Dean drives all the way to Arizona to see Aaron and right from the beginning it feels off, like there’s something that Aaron isn’t telling him.

There’s no case to work, and they sit in a dive bar drinking beers, talking until the sun comes up.

When he tries to kiss Aaron in the parking lot, Aaron turns away, sighs.

“What.” Dean is immediately anxious and takes a few steps back until he hits the solid safety of Baby.

“We should talk.” Aaron runs a hand across his mouth.

“We’ve been talking all night.”

“Look, Dean. I don’t …,” he trails off, eyes focused on something beyond the asphalt of the parking lot.

So much of his life takes place on the road, Dean thinks, why not also this. He’s not in love with Aaron, that’s not it, but he could have been, he might have been, if he’d had the time.

“It’s ok. You don’t have to.” Dean swallows, closes his eyes.

“It’s. There’s this guy, back home, it’s been rocky. But, we want to give it another try.”

Aaron has his hands in his pockets and is looking at everything except him.

“Sure.”

“Dean.”

“What.” He’s tired, so extremely tired.

“I.”

Then Aaron is suddenly in his space and he can’t escape because there’s nowhere to go, just sleek black steel.

“You’re a good man, Dean. I had a good time.”

“Ok, ok.”

There’s a ball of panic low in his stomach because he can’t move, he feels cornered, he needs to get out of there.

“It’s not you.”

Dean laughs. “Sure,” then “Man, I gotta.” And he pushes Aaron away gently, leaving some distance between them.

“See ya, Aaron. Hope you and your man, that you can make it work, yeah.”

And he slides into Baby, shutting the door behind himself gently. He closes his eyes for one second and then takes off, doesn’t look back, drives home through Texas, Oklahoma and into Kansas. He drives straight through the day and into the night, only stopping for gas and coffee.

Chapter 11: Feel Like a Number

Dean has been different lately, more withdrawn. He comes home from work later and later, then disappears for stretches of days upon days, he drinks. They rarely talk. It takes Cas the better part of March to understand that Aaron and Dean are no more, to connect this behavior with the behavior of the weeks after Lisa.

He’s sad, of course, for Dean, he doesn’t want Dean to be unhappy, but he’d be lying if he wasn’t also pleased, pleased that Aaron is out of the picture. Not that it changes anything.

So after Dean comes home for the first time in three days, a cut above his eyebrow, still seeping brownish red goop, he gives him half an hour in the shower, listening for the door to the bathroom, then the door to Dean’s room, before he ascends the stairs and knocks.

“Yeah?”

Dean is on the bed, in sweats and an old ACDC T-shirt. He looks tired, the cut above his eyebrow now clean and fixed with small stitches. 

He leans against the door frame, suddenly uncertain, just looking at Dean.

“I … I just wanted to ask you … if you wanted to get dinner,” he finishes lamely.

“Not hungry.”

Dean rubs his palm across his mouth, his knuckles raw and bruised.

Castiel steps into the room and sits down next to Dean earning him a surprised twist of the head and an intake of breath.

“What do you want, Cas.”

Dean’s voice is low and flat.

“I’m sorry about Aaron.” He says it just like that, nothing more or less, and Dean ducks his head and doesn’t say anything in reply. Finally, he sighs.

“Where do you want to get dinner, Cas.”

“Harvelle’s?”

“Ok.”

Dean gets up slowly, wincing, and takes a pair of jeans from the dresser. He pulls down his sweats and steps into the jeans, then grabs a hoodie from the floor and slips it over his head.

“Let’s go then.”

He drives them in his truck, and they get to Harvelle’s at just after 9 pm. It’s lively inside, and Jo is working the bar.

He suggests sitting in a booth and Dean just shrugs, following him across the floor.

Dean orders a burger and beer and Cas gets the vegetarian equivalent. Dean is silent until the beer comes, then takes a sip like a drowning man breathes in air. He watches Dean stare into space, then looks down at Dean’s hands, both of which are in bad shape, like he’s been fighting, busting chins and eyes for the past weeks; which he probably has.

Jo brings over their burgers personally and smirks at the quiet of the table.

“You look like you’re having a great old time.” She shakes her head.

“Shut up.” Dean offers.

Jo rolls her eyes and pats his shoulder. “Enjoy.”

“Oh, we will.” Cas replies and takes a sip of beer.

Jo shakes her head and then it’s just the two of them again.

“What happened to your hands.” He brushes his fingertips over the knuckles of Dean’s right hand, rests them there briefly, then pulls them back. Dean is staring at him now, eyes unreadable.

He shrugs. “Got in a fight.”

“Human? Or monster.”

“What’s the difference.” Dean takes a bite out of his burger, then puts it back on his plate.

Cas offers a noncommittal “Hm”. 

They continue to eat in silence and Dean orders another round of beers. And then a third. He’s feeling the beginnings of tipsiness, and is just about to open his mouth when Dean starts talking.

“We didn’t even fight, you know. With Lisa at least there was fighting, disagreements. Like I know where to put that. I know what I did wrong. Should have taken better care of her and Ben, been there more. Done less crazy shit. Less fights. She had to bail me out of jail once, you know? But Aaron. He knows the life, knows that it’s messy. And we never fought. Not once.” Dean takes a sip of beer. “I just thought, … not having to hide anything or sugar coat it, having someone who knows about what we do. I didn’t mind driving to Texas or Massachusetts or wherever he was. Seemed worth it.” He shrugs. “Whatever.”

He looks at Dean, doesn’t know what to say. Keeps quiet instead.

“Everyone is always leaving.” Dean sighs. Then downs the last of his beer. “You wanna play some pool?”

There’s a game drawing to a close and Cas nods, better this than trying to find words.

He wants to take Dean into his arms, to hold him close. Instead, he follows him to the pool table and they wait for the last two shots of the game being played.

Dean gets progressively drunker the longer they play and still beats him 3 times out of 4 and when they finally leave Harvelle’s, Dean is sullen again, silent, staring out of the truck’s window on the way home.

Chapter 12: What Is and What Should Never Be

“Sex worker, Dean.”

“What?”

They’re sitting in the living room, talking, Dean detailing a case to Jody and Sam involving a series of murders of sex workers in Milwaukee by a group of vampires. Dean’s mood over the past weeks hasn’t improved much, and he’s short with all of them, his voice rough.

Cas is sitting on the couch, reading journal articles, half-listening to their conversation.

“The word is sex worker? Hooker is derogatory.”

Dean snorts. “Whatever.”

“Not whatever, Dean. Show some respect.”

There's a weird quiet in the room, and Cas is surprised that Jody hasn’t said anything, that she’s only put a hand on Dean’s arm.

“Respect? Either way, Sammy, someone’s getting dick.”

“Really, Dean?” Sam sounds dismayed.

“Yeah. Doesn’t matter what you call it.”

There's something hard in Dean’s face and Jody is still saying nothing.

“But it does matter, Dean. Words matter. And hooker implies something sleazy and illicit. Which is not what it is. And sex worker is what most people prefer. And I think you should honor that.” Sam’s voice has risen with every word.

And then, suddenly, Jody. “Sam. Leave it.”

And Sam stares at her and then at Dean.

“I thought you'd be on my side?”

And Cas thinks the same, his surprise growing.

“It’s not about sides, Sam.” Her voice is measured and she looks between the two brothers, stopping on Dean, her nose scrunched.

And then Dean snorts, pushes his chair back, crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“You know where our rent money came from when Dad left us in Odessa, in Greenville? Or when you needed money for your stupid field trips in Middle School? To see some shitty stones in some museum? You think Dad took care of that?”

“What?” Sam sounds both shocked and vaguely scared.

Jody sighs and something turns over in Cas’s stomach. It’s obvious where this is going.

“Or when you needed boots in winter and Dad had spent the week drinking away his pay? Those fucking Spaghetti O’s you hated so much and complained about? Where the fuck do you think that money came from?”

Dean is standing now, and Jody looks so very sad, and Sam is staring.

“It doesn’t matter what you call it, Sam. I don’t care. Of course, it’s work. But it doesn't fucking matter. It just matters that you had a home and food on the table.”

Dean leaves the room abruptly, goes up the stairs, his door banging loudly.

Chapter 13: Fade to Black

The house is quiet and Dean feels so very guilty.

He’d been angry but, he knows, knows that his feelings are no excuse for putting all of that on Sammy.

And he didn’t mind it, not really. Most of the men were ok, more or less. It paid well. And he’d been more than able to defend himself. He’d always had a gun, or a knife, and he’d only needed it a few times, and mostly only when he was helping Dad on a case (and yes, that, that had been fucked up. Dad asking him to pretend to get close to potential suspects on the road). So it wasn’t as if it was bad.

It had been easy money. Like hustling pool, and later, the years of credit card fraud. He’s not entirely sure why he’s so pissed off at Sam.

Of course, if he’s honest, he knows why, because yeah, it wasn't horrible but he also didn’t have an actual choice. They’d needed money and it was the fastest way to get it. He’d been too young to get a well-paying job (isn’t that ironic) and turning tricks had seemed logical.

And Sammy had been blissfully unaware, always complaining, about their lack of food (even though Dean sometimes ate nothing so that his brother could have breakfast, lunch and dinner), about their second-hand clothes, about not being able to go out to the movies like the other kids.

And sometimes he resents Sam for not knowing. Even though it’s not his fault.

He has to think about Cas, who heard all of that, and who now knows.

And that does hurt a little, Cas knowing all of these things about him.

He wonders also if Aaron would have slept with him, if Lisa would have stayed with him for so long, if they'd known what he'd done, that he’d earned his money on his knees in bar bathrooms, sprawled on motel beds. He doubts it.

Which is why the words make no difference. People don’t like it when you have sex for money, think it’s bad either way. Doesn’t matter if you say hooker or prostitute or sex worker.

He grabs the half-empty bottle of whiskey from his bedside table and starts drinking. He’s pleased with himself, having this foresight, stashing alcohol in his room. He drinks until the bottle is empty and then falls asleep on the floor, curled into himself, his back to the bed.

Chapter 14: After the People Lights Have Gone Off

Things have been weird at the Winchester house.

Dean is avoiding everyone, and Sam doesn’t seem to know what to say or how to act, and Cas gets that. How do you react to your brother telling you that he paid for your food and school excursions with sex work.

Dean has been out of the house for most of the past week, not even returning in the evenings. Cas suspects that Dean is sleeping at work, at Benny’s or at Jody’s and it’s worrying in a way because he doesn’t know where Dean is and he’s scared that something will happen and they’ll only know after the fact.

He needs this to stop and that Saturday Dean is actually in the house and so is Sam and he corners them both in the kitchen.

“Liberty is showing a screening of The Thing with subtitles. It’s at 8 pm. I bought four tickets. I’ve already invited Eileen.”

Sam nods and Dean simply drinks his coffee.

“We leave together at 7.”

Cas turns and exits the kitchen.

At 6:45 he is still expecting at least Dean to bail, but there he is, sitting in the kitchen in jeans and a tee, waiting.

They drive in silence to pick up Eileen and then onwards to the cinema.

They grab popcorn and drinks and settle into the previews, Sam next to Eileen, then him, then Dean. He hands Dean a bag of sour candies from his bag and Dean looks briefly surprised, then smiles shortly and says a low thanks.

The movie is (as always) a revelation and he has an intensely good time. And it seems as if Dean does as well, the few glances he steals of his face, show him engaged and enraptured. They drive to Harvelle’s after and drink a few beers, Dean and Eileen have burgers. It feels almost normal, they’re talking about the movie, about Carpenter’s other movies and then suddenly, Dean asks everyone to shut up.

He looks first at Sam, then down at the table, then up again.

“Sammy, I’m sorry. I was pissed and I took it out on you. It’s not your fault Aaron broke up with me and it's not your fault that Dad was a shitty father.” He sighs and takes a long swallow of beer while Sam looks at him, his face showing anger and sadness and everything in between.

“Dean.”

“Sammy.”

“I … I should be apologizing for saying what I said, for not knowing, for Jody knowing and not me.”

Dean shrugs and Eileen motions with her head to the bar, and the two of them leave the brothers to talk alone.

He spends an enjoyable night with Jo, Eileen and Benny, and when they drive home after closing the mood in the car has shifted.

Dean even turns on music, the voice of Ronnie van Zant resonating through the car.

Chapter 15: It Came From the Closet

Cas is sitting in the den, grading papers. Jody is across from him, reading reports, doing research on a slew of murders in Brookings County. Sam is out with Eileen, and Dean and Claire are in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

He gets up to get a cup of coffee, and stands for a while in the kitchen, listening to Dean and Claire.

“So if you like her, what’s the problem.”

Claire snorts. “You’re one to talk.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Come on, I mean it, right? She seems cool, just ask her out.”

Claire looks at Cas and then back at Dean.

“But I don’t even know if I’m gay.” Her voice is small, very different from her normal blustering self.

“And? It’s not as if anyone’s going to make you stick to one sexual orientation for the rest of your life.” Dean yawns.

“I guess.” Then, “You can stay Cas, it’s fine. Maybe you can help.” She shrugs (her body language so much like Dean’s) and smiles at him, and he leans back against the door frame.

Dean looks at him as well, then back at Claire.

“The thing is, she’s said she doesn’t want to be with anyone who’s experimenting. You know? And how do I know that I’m not? Like what if I don’t actually like girls that way.”

“Then you don’t.” Dean shrugs.

“Wow, thanks.” Claire rolls her eyes and Cas smiles, stifling a chuckle into his coffee.

“I mean,” Dean says, “you can’t know if you’re experimenting or not, and also experimenting is a shit word, right? You like her. You’re 16. How are you supposed to know if you wanna hold her hand and kiss her and, I dunno,” he makes a lewd gesture with his fingers and tongue and Claire turns bright red and stares at him; Jody yelling from the living room “That’s my daughter, Dean!”

“My point is,” he shrugs, “you can’t know if you don’t try it.”

Claire is still crimson but she crosses her arms in front of her chest and locks eyes with Dean.

“How was it for you?”

Dean grins, “You mean my first boyfriend?”

“Yeah.”

Dean leans back and nods.

“Well. I think I was 16. We were in Texas, Sammy and me. Dad had fucked off and left us in a motel. It was hideous, oil country, you know? Everything was sad, everyone was poor, except for the people who were disgustingly rich. Anyways. There was this boy, the high school quarterback, Tim. Dark hair, blue eyes, you know, stunning.”

Dean is talking, eyes far away and doesn’t see Claire shoot Cas a look, a mix of sadness and provocation in the cast of her eyebrows, the turn of her mouth. He shakes his head, eyes immediately back on Dean.

“And he was kind, smart. So hot. And I knew immediately that I wanted to, … I mean I wanted him. Like before there had been guys and we’d made out and like gotten high and fooled around. But Tim was the first dude where I wanted more. There was no question.”

“And that wasn’t weird?”

“No. I don’t know. I think I’m attracted to looks, for sure, but also, just you know, people who are a little bit different. Like Tim. That rare gay Texan football captain who never pretended to be straight. Or Lis. You know, single mom with a bit of an edge. Aaron, the nerdy dude who could punch my lights out.” Dean sighs and Cas can’t stop looking at him.

Seeing him so open with Claire is heart-wrenching and again he wonders (can’t stop wondering) how he could have thought Dean straight for two years, how he just couldn’t look beyond what he thought he knew.

Dean is still talking, saying “Claire. They’re all just people. And if you like Kaya but you don’t wanna, you know, then that doesn’t have to mean that you’re not into girls either, right? Maybe it’s just Kaya. Or maybe it isn’t. And if it’s not for you, you followed your feelings. And that’s always right.”

He’s never heard Dean talk like this, and he can’t believe that there is yet again a side of him that he doesn’t know.

Chapter 16: I Saw the TV Glow

They’ve just finished watching No Country for Old Men and Dean is stretched out all along the couch, head on a pillow next to Castiel, his legs hanging off the armrest.

“What would you have done. Would you’ve kept the money?” Dean’s voice is rumbly and it makes Cas smile.

“Probably not. Seemed much more hassle than it would have been worth.”

“But if you would have been able to outrun them.”

He fights the urge to touch Dean’s hair, it’s freshly washed and looks so soft, like an invitation just for him.

“That would never happen.”

“It could though.” Dean nestles deeper into the couch and Cas thinks that now is finally the right time.

“Dean.”

“Hm.” Dean’s eyes are closed and he raises one eyebrow.

“Last August I went to Berkley to talk to some people there, discuss a project that they’re setting up.”

He stops talking and looks across the living room, into the darkening twilight past the windows.

“They offered me a job.”

“In Berkley.”

“Yes.”

It’s like the air is suddenly sucked from the living room, so quiet, the menu of the DVD playing over and over. Then Dean sits up.

“Ok.”

He’s looking straight at him and there’s anger there.

“When are you leaving.” His voice flat.

“Dean.”

He wants to reach out to him, to touch him, to return to the easy companionship of mere seconds before. He wants to rewind time, take it back, maybe never talk to Dean about any of this at all. Just stay, Dean doesn’t ever have to know that he could have moved back to California.

“When.”

“The job starts in September.”

“I’d better look for another roommate then.” And with that Dean stands, his face fixed. “I’m going to bed. Long day tomorrow.”

Dean leaves him alone on the couch, feeling like he should have done this differently, eased Dean into the conversation, but also, he hadn’t expected this reaction.

He remains there for a long time looking at the changing landscapes and alternating red splotches on the TV screen.

He should have known better.

Chapter 17: Dean, Please Come Home

Dean has his elbows on the counter, is staring straight ahead. He’s had so many whiskeys, so many beers, he’s drunker than he remembers being in a long time. But it’s not too bad. He still feels miserable but also like it doesn’t really matter. It’s a strange combination of feelings, they should cancel each other out but they don’t and he feels himself slipping further into a state of nonbeing, empty, floaty.

There’s a group of college boys playing pool, pretending to hustle and he’s been watching them for the last hour, how they goad people, take down two young women, a dude with glasses.

And now he thinks it’s their turn.

He smirks at the bartender (Donni, who knows him well and rolls his eyes) and runs a hand through his hair, joins the group at the pool table. They play. He’s forgotten how good he is at this, the hustle, how much he enjoys it, the sudden shift in the mood when they all figure out that he’s been putting on an act, that they’re gonna lose, and lose to someone who is drunk but still able to beat them at their own game.

The game ends, and he makes a few choice remarks and then later, when he’s about to leave the bar, one of the kids grabs him, tells him that he’s a huge dick for ripping them off and this is what he wanted, so he waits for the right moment and then hits the guy right in the face. He packs enough punch to show that he means it but not so much so that the guy will know immediately that he’s outmatched, and then it’s on, he’s fighting off the three college boys and he relishes the feel of knuckles against his face, the snap of skin as his lip breaks, the feel of their feet against his ribs.

It takes a while for him to go down, his face against the still-warm asphalt, tiny pebbles cutting into his cheek, but he doesn’t stay down for long, he wants this to go on forever. The physical pain and the alcohol a perfect mix to forget Cas, stupid fucking Cas, who’s going to leave for California, and he breaks one of the guys’ noses, blood everywhere and he laughs out loud, head thrown back.

Then suddenly the fists stop and he comes back to himself and there is Cas, standing a few feet from him, the blue lights of an ambulance a halo around his head, and Dean lets himself lie on the parking lot, staring up into the sky.

They’re driving, and he doesn’t remember giving Cas his keys, but he must have, or Cas had taken them, his head feels dull and hollow.

“You can’t do this, Dean.”

“Do what.” He hears his voice through a fog.

“Fight people, disappear.”

“You’re the one who’s disappearing.”

“Dean.”

He doesn’t reply, stares out of the window instead. He feels sick.

They arrive sometime later, and Cas helps him out of the car; he doesn’t want Cas touching him, but he stumbles and Cas is there, holding him up. “Let go of me.”

And Cas does, and he falls to his knees, the sudden loss of support disorienting, painful. He stays down, just for a breath or two, to get his bearings, fill the emptiness in his heart.

When he finds back to himself Cas is gone and he stumbles towards the door and up the stairs and into his bed.

He’s asleep within minutes.

Chapter 18: A Man Possessed 

He hasn’t seen Dean in days.

They have been living parallel lives for the past few weeks. Dean again avoiding him, avoiding Sam, avoiding the house. Sam is worried, afraid that Dean will do something stupid, get himself seriously injured or killed. He begs Castiel to talk to Dean, to fix whatever it is that he has broken.

But Dean won’t talk to him, leaves the room if they happen to come across each other.

It hurts and he misses him.

Then there is Dean in the hallway, ready to go to work, looking at him like he regrets coming downstairs.

“Dean, we need to talk.”

Dean looks at him and sighs. “About what.”

This is beyond frustrating and bordering on the ridiculous. They both know what it’s about. As if it would be about anything else.

“Come to the kitchen and sit.” He walks away from Dean and half expects him to just leave but hears Dean exhale and follow him into the kitchen where he sits down at the table, arms crossed. 

Cas follows suit and they sit there not looking at each other for what seems like minutes but is, at most, thirty seconds.

“This job offer,” he starts and Dean snorts.

“Dean.”

“Yeah.”

“Let me talk.”

Dean doesn’t reply and stares out of the kitchen window.

“This job offer,” he begins again, “it’s what I’ve been working for, for the past 12 years. It’s relevant, it’s current, it’s necessary. I’d be good at it. It might make an actual difference in the way the courts, and the Supreme Court in particular, work in the future.”

Dean’s shoulders have become more and more rigid with every word out of his mouth, his jaw clenched.

“But.”

And now Dean looks up. “But?”

“But. I could also stay here. KU have offered me tenure and it would be a comfortable life.” He smiles tentatively.

“But it wouldn’t be current or make an actual difference,” Dean quotes and glowers, rubs his hands over his face then lets them fall to the table.

“No, but I would be able to stay here and I enjoy teaching.”

He wills Dean to understand, he will spell it out if he has to but he wishes that Dean would just understand what he’s trying to say.

“Why would you want to stay.”

This is it, he thinks, what he has needed to say to Dean for a few weeks now (months, years). Instead of saying anything though, he reaches for Dean’s hand and gently closes his fingers around Dean’s.

Dean reacts almost immediately, trying to pull his hand back, but Castiel doesn’t let him.

“What are you doing,” Dean asks, his voice just above a whisper.

“Dean. I don’t want to leave without you.” His voice is also quiet, the words hanging in the kitchen between them. 

Dean again tries to pull his hand away, Cas can see him swallow, look away then look at their hands on the table.

“Dean, look at me.”

And surprisingly, Dean does.

He smiles and starts talking, still holding onto Dean’s hand.

“I thought, at the beginning of this year, before Aaron, that I could just live with you here, share this house, share our lives in the way that we have in the past. That I’d be happy just being with you. But I don’t think it’s enough.”

Dean is staring at him, and he continues, now that he’s started he wants to keep going.

“I don’t want to go back to California, not without you, not if you would want to come with me. Knowing you has changed me. The way you live your life, the things I’ve learned and experienced, things I never believed existed. Not just the monsters, the ghosts, that there are people like you. It’s how you’ve made this life for yourself, for your brother, created this family around you. How you care for these people, and offer your life up again and again.”

He tightens his fingers around Dean’s hand. “You’re the most selfless, loving human being I have ever known.” He stops then continues.

“And I would love for you to come with me, but if it’s too much, if you don’t want to leave, I could also stay. If you’d want me to. I would stay.”

Dean has been looking at their hands, but now looks up.

“We’d go to California?”

“Yes.”

“What would I do.”

“You can still hunt. You could work as a mechanic.”

Dean looks at him, something fierce and hard in his eyes.

“What about my friends. Bobby, Claire.”

“We can visit. We can spend the summers here. They can come to see us. You’ll see them when you’re hunting. And it wouldn’t be forever. We can always come back. Imagine Claire at the beach.”

Dean smiles a small smile, his eyes softening.

“And what about you. And me. What do we do.” Dean’s jaw is back to being set and there’s a touch of defiance now in his face.

“We live together. Like now.” He pauses. “Consolidate our bedrooms.”

Cas leaves it at that, his mind on sharing a bed with Dean, sleeping next to him. He doesn’t allow himself to imagine anything further.

“Ok,” Dean says. “Ok. I’ll go with you.”

And just like that, it all ends and begins again.

“Alright.”

They look at each other across the table.

“I,” he pauses. “I have to go to work, I’m supervising exams at 11.”

“Ok.” Dean nods.

They continue to sit and look, and he’s still holding Dean’s hand, their fingers entwined.

Finally, he lets go and stands, turns to put his mug into the sink. Behind him he hears Dean’s chair scrape and then the taller man is right there, clutching at him, swiveling him around. Dean looks at him, eyes a brilliant green, and then they’re kissing (Cas will never know who kissed whom first). Dean’s lips are soft, and Cas can taste where the skin is broken, a shadow of coppery blood in his mouth.

The world doesn’t stop, time doesn’t slow down, and it’s not the best kiss he’s ever had, but it’s all he’s wanted for the past two years (three if he doesn’t lie) and Dean is perfect and solid and wonderful and maybe, Cas thinks, it is actually the best kiss he’s ever had.

Then Dean whimpers against his mouth and he forgets to think entirely, heat twisting in his stomach, spreading to his hands, and he has to reach backward, fingers gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, to steady himself. They kiss for what feels like minutes, maybe hours, he can’t tell.

When they break apart, he draws in a shallow breath, tries in vain to calm the beating of his heart. Dean’s cheeks are a little pink and he’s so beautiful, eyes wide, lips parted. Castiel reaches for him again, presses his mouth against Dean’s, doesn’t ever want to stop. Dean’s fingers skim the skin above his waistband, thumb dragging a trail of sparks against the flat of his stomach.

He pushes closer, his hands now on Dean, holding him tight, fingers twisting into the fabric of his T-shirt. Dean’s mouth leaves his and he almost objects but then Dean’s breath touches his jaw and lower on his neck and Cas makes a noise he’s never heard himself make before. Dean laughs against his skin, then kisses more sparks downwards to the hollow of his throat, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of Cas’s jeans. He moans, left hand grabbing onto Dean’s arm and he feels Dean move against him, shifting his leg in between his and if they don’t stop this now, he’s going to lose himself in Dean’s touch. He’s never going to make it to work.

“Dean,” he tries, “Dean.”

And Dean stops kissing him, steps away, fingers against his lips.

“Sorry. Too much?” He sounds breathless and his mouth is red and it takes every ounce of restraint that Cas has to not just grab Dean and push him out of the kitchen and into his room.

Cas reaches for him again, but doesn’t kiss him, instead presses his face into Dean’s shoulder. “Never.” Then, “Don’t apologize.”

Dean lets out a shuddery breath and rests his head against Cas’s and says in a low voice, “Go to work. I’ll pick you up later and we can grab dinner. Continue this.”

And so Cas goes to work.

Chapter 19: Ramble On

They get dinner an hour away because they don’t want to see anyone they know and it’s just like every other dinner they’ve had so far, Dean eating a bacon cheeseburger, Cas a veggie burger with extra lettuce and tomato. They talk about his day, the late semester insanity of some of his students, their panicked exams, Dean’s progress into his newest obsession of collecting ‘70s and ‘80s paperback horror novels.

And at the same time, it’s not like any other dinner they’ve ever had. 

Dean keeps looking at him and smiling, all soft, their feet keep touching under the table. Cas has taken Dean’s hand once or twice and sitting here together, knowing that they’re going home together, makes the whole thing so intimate that it fills him with an almost overwhelming sense of joy. He’s slipped his fingers into the cuff of Dean’s hoodie, the fabric soft and old between his fingers, Dean’s wrist warm. 

When Dean goes to pee he touches Cas’s hand, allows it to linger there for much longer than necessary, and only then walks away, turning back to grin at him over his shoulder.

Cas smiles to himself, busies himself with the last fries on his plate and when he looks up there’s a man sitting at the counter staring at him, scowling.

He’s wearing a rumpled suit and Cas is pretty sure that he saw him lock the doors of an expensive-looking silver BMW, parked close to the entrance of the diner. No one else has spared them a glance the whole time they’ve been sitting here and eating, and of course, he thinks, of course, it’s the one suit-wearing assbutt who seems to have a problem with them and not the two guys in the John Deere hats three tables over, or the family in the corner booth.

He looks back at the man, stares him down until he looks away and back at his cup of coffee.

When Dean returns, shambling through the diner, the man’s eyes follow him, seizing him up and Cas watches attentively. Dean is in jeans, a hoodie and an old Carhartt jacket, he looks almost nondescript (except of course he doesn’t, not with that face), non-threatening, like a normal guy grabbing dinner.

The suited man turns in his seat and opens his mouth but then quickly closes it, staring at what Cas knows is the gun stuck in the back of Dean’s jeans, his bruised knuckles peeking out from his sleeves, the width of his shoulders. The man swivels back to the counter and Dean reaches the table non-the-wiser.

Dean nods at him and gestures. “Already paid. Let’s get out of here.”

And Cas stands and, because he wants to but also to piss off the guy at the counter, he takes Dean’s hand and kisses his palm, then his mouth, bumping their hips together. When they step apart, Dean grins stupidly and Cas leads him towards the door.

When they walk by the suited guy, Cas smirks and says “I didn’t think so” and flips him off.

The door falls closed behind them.