Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/959828.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      Gen, F/M, M/M, F/F
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester, Jessica_Moore/Sam_Winchester, Jody_Mills/Bobby
      Singer, Charlie_Bradbury/Meg_Masters
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Castiel, Sam_Winchester, Meg_Masters, Charlie_Bradbury,
      Garth_Fitzgerald_IV, Adam_Milligan, Crowley_(Supernatural), Bobby_Singer,
      Jo_Harvelle, Ellen_Harvelle, Jody_Mills, Victor_Henriksen, Chuck_Shurley,
      Jake_Talley, Gabriel_(Supernatural), Dick_Roman, Chet, John_Winchester,
      Michael_(Supernatural)
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Bad_Boy_Castiel, awkward_but_sexy
      teenage_touching, Slow_Build, Feels, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Adam_is_a_dick,
      Michael_is_too, Mary_Feels, Anna_Feels, Dean_and_Cas_are_such_saps, once
      you_get_past_all_the_bullshit, Sexual_Tension, Humor, Romance, this_story
      is_so_fucking_long, seriously, John_sucks, lots_of_sexual_activity, and
      fluff, tons_of_fucking_fluff, Foul_Language, Adult_Content, ask_a
      parent's_permission_before_reading, Cas_is_secretly_a_giant_softy, Dean
      is_a_giant_nerd, there's_also_a_panty_kink, and_other_kinks
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-09-08 Updated: 2014-12-18 Chapters: 14/? Words: 109263
****** What Defines Us ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Dean Winchester is failing his classes. Which is bad. So, when the
     school counselor tells him he can't play sports until he gets his
     grades up, he's forced to work with local rebel and all around Senior
     bad boy Castiel Novak in order to raise his grade point average. What
     starts as antagonistic and barely polite (with an annoying amount of
     underlying sexual tension) soon turns into a reluctant friendship-
     - and then, maybe more.
Notes
     Co-Written with my Aussie (http://insanity-is-life.tumblr.com) and
     Beta-ed by the wonderful http://prof-lupin.tumblr.com/. This story
     wouldn't exist if it wasn't for them.
     WARNING: A bit of undersage-ish sexytimes. Plus depictions of child
     abuse and mentions of suicide. I'll give a warning above each chapter
     for any possible triggers, just in case.
     I certainly hope you all enjoy this. I know I've had a blast writing
     it.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** When I Need Help (Can’t Call For Help) *****
“Mr. Winchester?” 
What was he going to tell John?  What was he going to tell Sammy?  He could
already see the disappointment on his face, could already picture the sad droop
of his shoulders when he found out.  It would crush him, knowing that he
wouldn’t be going to any of Dean’s games, wouldn’t be seeing him play on the
varsity team.  The season had just started, but it was already ending for him. 
Already over before he could even start in his first match.  It made something
in him twist.
“Mr. Winchester, are you listening to me?” 
Dean stared down at the palms of his hands, a small frown on his lips, marring
his features.  “Yeah, I’m listening, Mr. Henriksen.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”  He asked, dipping his head, trying
to catch the young man’s gaze.
“Yes.”  Dean grit out, glancing up, eyes hard and resolved.  “Yes, I
understand.  Impossible as it is to believe, I’m actually not stupid.  I can,
in fact, understand the spoken English language.”
He felt resentment flare up in him.  Burning and angry, and he knew that it was
mostly directed at himself and not at his guidance counselor.  It just so
happened that Henriksen was a lot easier to be pissed at than himself. 
“I wasn’t trying to imply that you were--”
“--so, I mean, what the fuck can I do?”  Cutting him off with a snap, Dean
shifted in his seat, uncomfortable in the way his skin seemed to crawl with
irritation, the way knots of anxiety weighed heavy in his gut.  “What the fuck
can I do to--?”
“Mr. Winchester, I’d appreciate it if you watched your language.”  Henriksen
glowered, leaning forward in his chair, elbows resting on the top of his desk. 
“If you’d settle down for a second, I could tell you just what you can do.”
Dean bit back the response he was going to make; scathing and sarcastic, ready
to tell him exactly where he could stick his advice.  A dark brow ticked up
over Henriksen’s eyes, and his fingers drummed against the wood of the desktop
as he waited.  Heaving out a deep sigh, Dean shifted again, leaning back
heavily in his chair as all his limbs sagged like he was a marionette with its
strings cut.
“I can still practice, can’t I?” 
Henriksen pursed his lips, shaking his head.  “No, Mr. Winchester.  You can’t. 
Your grade point average is too low to participate in any school organized
sports.  You can’t play, you can’t practice.  Not until it’s at least a two-
point-five.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Afraid not,” he replied with a grim look.  “You have to get your grades up,
Mr. Winchester.  You have to graduate.  Don’t you want to be successful?”
Oh, he wanted to.  He wanted to so badly.  Wanted to get out of the suburban
Hell he was trapped in.  Wanted to get away from this town, the people in it,
his father.  From everything.  Wanted to take Sammy with him, pile into the
Impala with everything they owned, and just drive until he couldn’t see
straight.  He wanted to go to college, to get a degree, to make enough money to
send Sam away to University when that rolled around too. 
But wanting and deserving are two completely different things.
Henriksen sighed, running a hand over the smooth skin of his scalp as he
stretched back into his chair.  “Listen, Mr. Winchester--”
“Dean.”
“What?”
“My name is Dean.  Stop calling me Mr. Winchester.  That’s my dad.”
“Dean,” Henriksen sighed again, and he had a keen feeling that he was going to
end up doing that a great deal when it came to this particular student. 
“You’ve got to get yourself on track.  You’re a junior; you’ve still got time
to get your grades up, to get into a good college.  But this year is crucial,
Dean.  If you don’t start trying now?  Well, I honestly don’t think you’ll be
able to.”
Glancing back down, he stared at his hands again.  Traced the lines of his
palms with his eyes, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.  His shoulders
rolled forward, slumping slightly in his seat, and he huffed out a resigned
sound.  “What do I need to do?”
Henriksen grinned, relief evident in his expression.  “Thought you’d never
ask.”
===============================================================================
 
Skepticism was a nice way to put it.
Really?  Castiel fucking Novak?  A tutor?  Histutor?
He stared down at the slip of paper, walking out the double doors that lead to
the fields almost on autopilot.  It was fourth period.  Which everyone knew
meant their resident bad boy would be skipping class and hiding out in the
bleachers; he’d been caught there on more than one occasion in years previous,
not to mention the half a dozen or so times he’d gotten a detention slip-- and
subsequently skipped said detention-- already that semester, and that was the
problem with small schools like theirs.  Everyone knew everyone else’s
business.
By the time he’d made his way to the stands, he’d shaken off most of the shock,
and had to slow his pace when he noted the fact that there was no one there. 
Had he actually gone to class this time?  Hesitating for a moment, he stepped
up onto them, metal creaking under foot.  Scanning over them once more as he
climbed up, pausing about three-quarters of the way to the top in order to look
around.  He could only imagine how much of a lost puppy he must appear to be. 
“Great,” he huffed, feeling irritation well up within him.  He would really
rather not spend the rest of his day trying to track this guy down.  “Fucking
great.”
He slumped down, hard, onto the bench seat.  Winced as it jarred his body, and
leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.  He stared hard at the slip of
paper with Castiel’s name scrawled across it, and felt that sharp edge of anger
twist in him. 
“Well,” he muttered to himself, crumpling the paper up and then chucking it as
hard as he could across from him.  “This is fan-fucking-tastic.” 
***** Squeeze My Lemons *****
 
Reputation was a powerful thing.  It dictated one’s life; your dress, your
speech, your general appearance. It was the mask you applied every day in order
to face people.  The same applied for Castiel Novak, leather clad with an
attitude three miles wide.  Most days, his reputation was what kept him going,
somewhat prideful of the way juniors parted way for him, leveling with the same
trademark half grin that had the majority of the cheer squad --and a surprising
portion of the male populous-- turning to putty in his hands.
Blowing out a long sigh, he rolled his shoulders, still a little sore from a
total of eleven hours in a tattoo artist’s chair, soft navy cotton brushing
against raw skin as his jacket shifted across his back, weighing down what was
otherwise a light shirt.  Taking off his bag, Castiel thought about leaning
against the cool metal of row upon row of ugly green lockers but thought better
of it when he recalled the fresh black ink sitting under the skin of his upper
arms.  Riffling through his timetable, he groaned softly.  Whilst English was
his favorite subject, he couldn’t stand his teacher, Mr. Shurley, though Cas
had a habit of calling him Chuck. It was times like this he hated his
reputation, baring his desire to correct his teacher --it waswhereforeart thou,
not where art thou! Juliet knew where her Romeo was, she wanted to know why he
was a fucking Montague.
Flicking his gaze up to trail over a skinny looking girl awkwardly trying not
to make her stare obvious, he raised a singular eyebrow, a flash of embedded
metal glinting duly.  Tilting his head, Castiel regarded her with an oddly
intense stare, like one would an offering.  He was in no mood to flirt, but
she, like many of the people who watched him, was vaguely interesting.  He had
always been fond of watching people; their mannerisms, attitudes and reactions
all filed away for future reference.
Looking away from her with a soft smirk, he carefully shouldered his bag again
and headed in the exact opposite direction of his English class.  He already
knew Romeo and Juliet backwards and forwards anyway.  Walking out of the school
halls with his usual confidence, Castiel took to climbing up the back of the
bleachers, both ignoring and being ignored by the PE teacher inflicting God-
knows-what on poor, unsuspecting juniors as he slipped down beneath the
bleacher scaffolding, perching on a high rung, balancing on booted feet as he
hung his bag on a protruding screw.
With a quick glance around, Castiel assured himself he was not being observed
as he pulled out a battered copy of An Actor Prepares, dog-eared and pencil
marked from his insistent and ever changing note-taking.  Opening to his
bookmarked page, Castiel read familiar paragraphs-- ones that he had
practically committed to memory.  The Magic If. What would I do if in Hamlet’s
position? How do I bring this man to life?
He lost track of time, not sure exactly how long he’d been reading, often
pausing to contemplate what he was reading, applying it to roles past and
previous, pulling out the stub of a well used pencil from behind his ear,
careful not to catch the metal bar that formed his scaffold piercing, to
scratch notes in the ever shrinking margins.
Castiel was startled out of his focus when he heard scuffled footsteps coming
up the bleachers. Oh, great. Company.  Quickly, he shoved his book back into
his bag, hoping nobody saw it.  It wouldn’t do for the resident ‘bad boy’ to be
seen reading an acting manual.
Raising his head, he peered out from between the bleacher seats, glaring at the
well proportioned figure of one Dean Winchester; jock, popular, and all around
asshat.  Hissing in annoyance, he crouched under the bleachers, looking out at
him in hopes they wouldn’t have to talk.  Castiel was a few things, but
judgemental wasn’t one of them.  Unless the subject of judgment was Dean-
- because that guy irked him to no end.  All-winning smile, taken a few too
many hits around the head, knocked the few brains cells left around. 
It wasn’t as though they’d spoken a great deal.  In fact, the one time Castiel
had spoken to him was only passingly in the hall, jibed at by the gaggle of
swimmers with him, apparently leather pants equated with homosexuality.  He
only wore his favorite leathers on special occasions now.
The closer Dean got to his perch, the more disgruntled he became, to the point
that he was flat out glowering at him.  It wasn’t until Dean had taken a seat
right next to where he was hiding that he spoke, a voice that didn't quite
match his age --thanks a bunch, puberty-- far too deep and gravelly.
“What do you want?” He asked, blunt as ever, shouldering his bag.
Dean startled, practically jumping out of his skin, and whipping around in his
seat so fast that he ended up falling between the bench seats with a harsh
sound.  “Shitfuckingdamnit-- Would you fucking warn a guy?”
He would like to say that he was surprised, making out Castiel’s unamused face
between the slats of metal that made up the stands, but he definitely wasn’t. 
Couldn’t be.  Couldn’t bring himself to be.  Not past the frustration still
bubbling under his skin.
“What the hell are you doing under there?”
With surprisingly agile movements, Castiel climbed over the bleacher rail,
jumping down to stand a few steps above him, landing with a muffled thump.  “I
don’t think that’s any of your business. I asked you a question. What do you
want?”  He asked flatly, skillfully hiding his amusement at the way Dean had
sprung off of his seat.  Like a frightened cat.
“Uh...” he swallowed, appearing vaguely bashful as he scrambled onto his feet,
dusting his jeans off with sharp, jerking movements.  “Henriksen.  Mr.
Henriksen told me to find you.”
Raising a studded eyebrow, Castiel took a moment to recall the name. 
Henriksen.  Yes, the one they’d sent him to when he was a junior.  Apparently
moving out of home warranted some kind of counseling, though he thought
otherwise: if anything he was better off away from the majority of his family.
“Let me rephrase then.  What doeshe want?”  Castiel asked, leaning lazily up
against the rail, a slip of tan skin peeking out from under his shirt.
Dean hesitated, tongue darting out over his lips as he braced himself for the
next words that were going to spill out.  There was a large part of him telling
him to forget it.  To just leave.  He already had a part time job at Bobby’s
and another at Ellen's; he could drop out and hit one full time.  It wouldn’t
be a big deal, everyone expected it out of him anyways-- yeah, he was pretty,
could kick a ball around and swim a mean hundred butterfly, but he was never
going to amount to much.
But he thought of the look on Sam’s face.  The look he would give him if he
dropped out, if he gave up like that.  It would be the same look he gave to
John everyday-- rather, on the days that he was actually in the house and not
drowning in the bottom of a bottle at some bar.
Jaw flexing, he huffed out a sharp breath and gave him a dry look.  “I need a
tutor.  He said you were the guy to talk to.”
With a soft snort, Castiel regarded him for a long moment, unsure if this was a
joke, or if Dean honestly needed his help.  Castiel had always been smart-
- sometimes that was the only thing keeping him in school, because if he didn’t
both achieve and tutor the odd person, they’d have him expelled so fast his
head would spin.  An innate ability to do well in tests without much effort was
his savior; his brother, Gabriel, called it his ‘naturally bullshit laden
personality.'  Cas prefered to call it intelligence.
“So you want me to give up my precious time for your dumb ass.”  He stated,
pausing for a moment as he grumbled to himself, knowing he had little choice
but tutor him.  “I don’t do math, and I don’t do easy rides.  You want to do
well, you will work your pretty ass off for it.  Understand?”
Dean was getting sick and fucking tired of people asking him if he understood. 
“Yeah, I get it.” 
Dean's hands flexed at his sides, and he resisted the urge to shift under his
gaze.  He didn’t like this anymore than Castiel seemed to, and in all honesty
wished he didn’t have to do it at all.  The fact that it was with Castiel of
all people only made it worse.  It wasn’t as though they fought, as though they
were enemies of some kind.  They just didn’t exactly talk; the few interactions
they had had were never exceptionally friendly.  But they weren’t volatile
either.
“So how do we do this?”
Cas didn’t so much as blink, staring over at him as though weighing up his
value.  He could see the frustration, though its cause remained hidden.  “I
teach.  And you learn.  It’s not hard.”  He deadpanned, shuffling his bag on
his back as it pressed a little too hard on his still healing skin.  “What
subjects do you need help in?”
All of them, Dean thought begrudgingly even though it wasn’t exactly true.  He
was aceing gym, at least.  Two C’s-- one in English and the other his pre-calc
class.  There was a D in art, and the rest were all F’s. 
“You know, world history.  Bio.”  He shrugged, doing his best to suppress the
embarrassed flush that wanted to overtake his face, tucking his hands into the
pockets of his pants.  Dean wasn’t used to asking for help.  He was used to
failing, but he wasn’t used to being forced to ask for help, to focus so much
light on his ineptitudes.  “The usual bullshit.  I don’t need much help.  Just
enough to get me to a C average, enough to get me back in sports.”
Castiel rolled his eyes, pinning him with an unamused look as he moved to stand
next to him.  “I’ll ask again: what subjects do you need help in?”  He said,
stance all confidence as he stared over at him.  He wasn’t used to being
snarked at, generally, he demanded enough respect entirely based on his
reputation to command some attention.
“I need syllabus’, class content, and names of your teachers.”
Dean blinked, feeling suddenly quite weary about this entire thing-- irritation
placed on the backburner as he regarded him, taking a slow step back to put
more space between them.  “Why the hell do you need all of that?”
“Did you think I can just pull a full study plan entirely for your subjects and
texts out of my ass.”  Castiel challenged, annoyance growing by the second,
lord give him preservation.  “I’ll need to talk with some of your teachers to
see what’s difficult, I need your class work to see what the hell it is I’m
supposed to tutor you on.  Rather self explanatory.”
“Yeah, okay.”  Dean gave a breathy, agitated slip of a laugh, eyes going
skyward for a moment as if asking for some kind of guidance.  His gut clenched
and rolled, burning and boiling as he flicked at his nose and moved to walk
away.  “I’ll just round all of that up.  With any luck, maybe a bit of
witchcraft, I should probably have it to you by tomorrow.  What day is best for
you to start working, princess?”
Dean asked day.  Because, really, who the fuck would want to spend more than a
couple of hours tops one day of the week with this condescending prick?
“That’s Prince Charming to you, asshole,” he drawled out, “I shouldn’t be too
hard to find.  I want it before the week's end, I’m free every afternoon except
weekends and Fridays.  I’ll see you round.”  He added, walking away without so
much as a smile in his direction.
Dean watched him go.  He wanted to punch him.  Wanted punch someone. 
Something.  He couldn’t believe that this was happening.  Biting back a sound
of frustration, he made his way down the bleachers, headed back for the school
building. 
Fourth period.  He could really use some mind-numbing art-talk right now.
===============================================================================
 
Dean was nervous about going home.  Sweaty palms, churning stomach, that kind
of thing.  His car idled as he sat in his driveway, engine purring and giving
him away.  He could only sit outside for so much longer before Sam came out to
investigate why he was taking his sweet time coming inside to cook him dinner. 
Growing boys and all that.
Staring at his steering wheel, he grimaced.  He didn’t want to go inside. 
Didn’t want to deal with questions about how his day went.
Jaw flexing, he braced himself, killing the engine and jerking his car door
open when he spotted his nosy little brother peaking at him through the
livingroom window.  Climbing out, he slung his bag over his shoulder and shut
the door with reluctance, wanting nothing more than to get back in and drive
off.  He moved away from the car, jogging up the short flight of stairs to
their home. 
It was in surprisingly good shape considering John didn’t take care of it-- the
lawn wasn’t the greenest and the house could use a new coat of paint, but it
was passable.  Dean tried to make sure a mow the yard every other weekend to
keep it under control, and he had Sam put out the sprinkler when he came home
from school every once in awhile to keep it from yellowing.  The backyard was a
little worse for wear; it didn’t matter as much, no one could see it but them,
so they didn’t have to pretend back there.  There was a ratty old trampoline
Dean had spent nights on, just staring up at the stars, spent afternoons
teaching Sam how to do flips and backflips on.  There were still patches of
dead grass from when Sam had brought home a stray golden retriever and kept him
for two weeks before John had come crawling back from two towns and three bars
over and thrown a fit. 
The only thing Dean made sure to keep up back there was the single apple
orchard by their back fence.  He trimmed it when it needed trimming; when the
season came around, he picked the shiniest apples and washed them and put them
in a pie or two.  It was a bittersweet act, baking apple pie, like his mother
had when they were young.  Leaving just the right amount of peel on them,
leaving them to soak in butter, sugar, and cinnamon before baking it in the
crust.  It always reminded him of coming home from school when he was eight to
find her sprawled out on the kitchen floor, eyes open wide, skin pale and pie
burning in the oven.
It had been a cerebral aneurysm.  There had been no way to see it coming.  No
way to catch it, or fix it, though she’d been complaining of headaches for
days.  John had blamed himself for not taking her to the doctor’s, for not
insisting, and had since been losing himself in bottles of Jack and self-pity. 
All the while, his children were struggling to stay afloat-- Dean trying to
keep food on the table, trying to keep his dad proud with sports, and letting
his grades go by the wayside.  Thank god the mortgage had been paid off years
previous. And thankfully, they weren’t completely alone in the mess; Dean often
got help from Bobby-- extensions on paychecks-- and handouts from Ellen-- who
often sent meals from the restaurant over for the both of them-- even though
Dean insisted he could take care of Sam and himself.  They had both been close
friends with John and Mary, and they’d both made sure to keep an eye out on his
boys even if John wouldn’t.
The door opened with a creak, and reminded himself for the millionth or so time
that he should get some oil for the hinges when he got the chance.  “Hey,
Sammy, I’m home!”
“You’re early!” He called back from the living room, rushing to make himself
look casual as he slumped over-dramatically on the couch and turned the TV on
to an infomercial.  “No practice today?”
“Something like that,” he muttered, not bothering to hide the affectionate
smile that curled on his lips as he leaned against the jam that lead from the
foyer to the family room as he stared at his brother.  “How was school?”
Sam glanced over at him, brow furrowing.  “What do you mean ‘something like
that’?  Are you skipping it?”
“Not exactly.”
“Dean.”
“What?”  He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting.  Hiding
things from his brother was hard; lying to him was harder.  Especially
considering the fact that the intuitive little bastard seemed to see right
through him more often than not. 
“Why aren’t you at soccer practice?”
“Why are you watching a program about how to get the perfect abs?”  Dean
deflected, shoving off the jam to walk over, plopping unceremoniously down next
to him on the couch.  “Trying to impress somebody?”
“What are you--?  Oh,” Sam sighed, blushing faintly before he turned the TV
off, and gave Dean a bashful look as he pushed against his side.  “You didn’t
answer my question.”
“You didn’t answer mine,” he retorted, poking him just under his ribs, right
where he knew he was ticklish.  Laughing as he squirmed away, he followed after
his movements, poking him again before Sam slapped his hands away with an
aggravated snap of his name. 
“I asked first--would you cut that out?”  Sam huffed, pushing at him as he
tried to tickle him again, letting out a sigh of relief as his brother finally
ceased and retreated to his side of the couch.  “Why aren’t you at practice,
Dean?”
He hesitated.  Honestly, he really didn’t want to tell him why he wasn’t
there.  But he knew better than to lie to him,  knew not to do something that
John did all the time.  Because Dean refused to be anything like their father. 
Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees, giving him a serious and
earnest look.
“Do you promise not to be mad?”
Sam’s expression fell.  “Dean, what did you do?”
“Hey, breathe, okay?  It’s nothing... too terrible.  Little embarrassing,
honestly.”  He admitted, glancing down, preparing himself for the
disappointment.  “I’m not doing so well in some of my classes.  Can’t play
until they’re all good again.”
Sam frowned, brow furrowing, and he inched a bit closer, as if sensing his
brother’s distress.  “Well, do you need any help?  Do you need myhelp?  I can
help.”
“No.  No, Sam, it’s--” Dean cut himself off, glancing up to see the hopeful
look there, and he laughed faintly.  “Yeah.  Yeah, okay.  I’d really like your
help.  Between you and my new tutor I’ll be rolling in the good grades in no
time.”
“New tutor?”
Dean sighed just at the mention of it-- of him.  Castiel Novak.  He couldn’t
imagine how the hell he, of all people, was supposed to be his tutor.  From
what he understood, he was worse than Dean.  Almost never showed up to class. 
How was he supposed to help him get his grades up if he barely went to class in
the first place?  Dean figured that he was probably only still in school
because his parents donated quite a bit to the district, and his siblings had
provided a great deal for the school’s reputation.  Castiel had great grades,
kept the school’s records up-- or helped anyways-- which meant they kept him
around despite all of the classes he missed.  At least he was still on campus
when he ditched.
“Yep.  Got myself a tutor.”  He assured Sam, grinning.  “So, really, there’s
nothing for you to worry about.  Like I said, I’ll be back in the game in no
time.”
Sam practically beamed at him.  “That’s great!  I’m so proud of you, Dean.  I
know you’ve got some bad grades, but at least you’re fixing them, right?”
“Right,” he agreed, smiling softly, feeling a warmth bloom in his chest at his
little brother’s words.  “Well... now that we’re done with that.  What are you
making for dinner tonight?”
“What?  Dean, I don’t make dinner.  You do.”
Letting out a fake yawn, he stretched his arms above his head, toppling over to
sprawl over the top of his younger brother, squishing him beneath the weight of
his body.  “I dunno, Sammy.  I’m kinda tired.  Think you should make dinner
tonight.  I’m a hard workin’ guy, Sam.”
“Dean!”
Wrapping his arms around his squirming form, he snuggled against him, face
rubbing against his chest as he gave another large yawn.  “Yep.  So tired,
Sam.  Think I’m just gonna curl up with this fancy new pillow and catch a few. 
You can make that thawed chicken on the counter, can’t you?”
“Dean, c’mon!  Would you stop?  I’m not a pillow, and I can’t make dinner!”
“Weird, this pillow sounds just like you.”
“Dean!”
 
***** Every Now and Then I Kick the Living Shit Outta Me *****
Chapter Notes
     Warning: Brief mentions of child abuse,
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
It had taken Dean all week to gather what he needed from his classes.
 Naturally, he hadn’t kept the syllabus’ from his classes, and had to request
new ones from each of his teachers.  They’d all given him these ridiculously
knowing looks that made him feel vaguely ill.  The class work-- what little of
it he’d done-- had been easy to find; he liked to keep his room neat and clean
in contrast to his father’s general mess.  
Sam had helped him organize it all into a binder, the dork, but Dean hadn’t
really minded seeing his little brother make such a fuss over him.  He’d go so
far as to call it cute.  He had gone so far, in fact, and it had resulted in a
tussle that left Dean with a bruised shin and Sam with a nasty knot on his
head.  All in all, it had been a pretty successful week at home.
School, however, was a completely different story.
It was Friday, and sixth period was just getting out.  He knew where Castiel’s
locker was-- everyone did, just like everyone knew where Dean’s was, the
consequences of a small school-- and made his way there through the throngs of
people in the halls.  Sidling up to him, taking in the casual way Castiel was
shuffling through his things, appearing disinterested but simultaneously in a
rush to get off campus, he held out the binder with a touch of reluctance.
“Here,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the cacophony of the crowd.
 “Everything you asked for.”
Why was this taking Dean so long?  It was a simple request for a folder of work
he should have laying around at home.  With a frustrated huff, Castiel leant
against his locker, tattoo no longer protesting as much, healing faster than
he’d expected.  This week had been it’s usual blend of ditching class because,
honestly, he had better ways to spend his time, and occasionally sitting in
because he’d gotten yet another threat from the headmaster Crowley about his
terrible attendance.  The office once called his elder brother several years
ago --who had since taken guardianship-- about his attendance and general
attitude. Needless to say, they never called Gabriel again; it was a very
interesting evening.
He was itching to get out of there; he had a ‘job’ to work, and Friday’s crowd
started early and went late.  When Dean finally pushed through the crowd, he
pushed off the locker and took the offered binder with a certain smoothness of
movement that spoke of grace.
“Finally,” he mumbled, opening the binder to look over the assembled work with
an air of false disinterest.  It all seemed in order as he flipped through page
after page of subjects, most of which he’d either taken or had looked into for
previous tutorings.  Nodding his satisfaction, Castiel closed the binder and
knelt to cram it into his bag. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
Wait a second.  That was it?  ‘See you on Monday?'  Dean had to bite back a
wince as Castiel mishandled the binder he and Sam had taken such time to put
together.  Brow furrowing, he watched as he stood, bag slung over his shoulder;
he moved to his right as Castiel tried to skirt around him and make his exit,
blocking his way.
“Where and whenon Monday?”  He asked, tone sharp as he cut him off.  “Oh, yeah,
and you’re welcome.”
Trying to make a quick exit seemed off the agenda.  Huffing in irritation, he
glared at him, attempting to move again only to find his path blocked.
"I didn't thank you, dumbass."  He snapped, giving up on moving forward with an
angry grunt.  "I have a few hours to kill Monday afternoon.  I suppose we'll
meet then.  Public library will be sufficient for a meeting place."  Cas told
him, patience vanishing as his path was blocked yet again.  "Now get the fuck
out of my way before I decide to break your nose."
A chill ran down his spine at the threat, and he stood a bit straighter.  They
were the same height, and it left their gazes meeting perfectly.  Glaring into
intimidatingly blue eyes-- the ones that made girls chatter and swoon over him,
the ones that made Dean feel like he was being stripped down and taken apart
bit by bit-- he offered up a none-too-nice grin, all teeth and almost animal.  
“All you need to do is ask, Prince Charming.”  He replied, unmoved by his
words; he’d gotten worse after last year’s soccer championship against the
Huskies from some school in West Virginia; he’d gotten worse from his dad from
time to time.  “And a ‘please’ would probably go a longway.”
Castiel made no move to back down, staring at him with an unwavering gaze.
 Proximity did nothing to disturb him, comfortable with the lack of personal
space despite their obvious dislike of each other.  He lingered for a moment,
flicking his gaze over the length of his body, an odd smirk curling his lips.
“Whatever you say, Princess.”  He leered, abruptly turning around to slink
away, no longer interested in his little games.
Dean tensed, watching as he walked away with a look of dawning horror spreading
over his face.  He followed the mop of black hair through the crowd with his
gaze for as long as he could, but as he disappeared, Dean finally took a
stuttering breath-- not realizing he hadn’t been breathing in the first place
until Castiel had moved away.  Exhaling deeply, he leaned back against the
lockers heavily, the cool metal soothing even through the cotton of his shirt.
 The way his gaze had raked over him made him feel itchy, sort of made him
burn, made him tingle.  
“Yo, Winchester!”  Dean blinked, blinked again, and looked up to see one of his
teammates walking up to him.  Adam Milligan, a boy in his grade, came sidling
up to him and clapped him on the shoulder companionably.  They were forwards
together, though Dean sometimes played defense as well, but they had a bit of a
problem getting along most of the time.  Always competing for shots.  “What’s
up, man?  You haven’t been at practice-- you coming to today’s scrimmage?”
“Adam, hey.”  He shoved off of the line of lockers.  He didn’t want to have
this conversation.  Not with Adam.  Not with anyone.  “How’ve you been?”
“Good.  I’ve been good.” Adam tilted his head, bemused as he stared at him;
Dean brushed by, clutching to the strap of his backpack that was slung over his
shoulder.  “You know, that really wasn’t an answer, Dean.”
“Yeah, I-- I’ve just been really busy.  Got a test to study for.  I’ll be back
on the field before you know it.”  He replied, turning to walk backwards so
that he could speak more clearly at him.  “Tell the guys not to worry.”
Adam’s eyebrows darted up, and he let out a soft laugh.  “Yeah, sure.  Don’t
rush or anything.  I’m enjoying having all the passes to myself.”
“I’m sure you are.”
Dean felt something bitter well up in him, and he could taste it at the back of
his throat and on his tongue.  Rounding a corner blindly, he went veering into
a smaller body, and they both came to a stumbling halt as books went spilling
across the floor.  Letting out a soft curse, he instantly crouched to the
floor, uttering apologies as he gathered up the discarded things.
“Real smooth, pretty boy.  You use those moves on all the ladies?”  Freezing,
he glanced up with a dry expression on his face, head canting to the side in
blatant annoyance.  Meg smirked down at him, hand on her hip, dark hair pulled
back into a ponytail.  “Because I’ve gotta say, they need some serious work.”
“Really?  I think I’m charming.”  Standing up in one easy movement, he handed
her the things she’d dropped, and she rolled her eyes at him.  
“Of course you do.”
“Don’t give me that look,” he grinned, cheeky and playful.  “If I’m not
mistaken, it was you who fell for my charms in the first place.”
“That was the seventh grade.  And we were playing truth or dare.”
“You still kissed me.”
“And you kissed back.”
Dean shrugged nonchalantly, “you tasted like peanut butter, what did you expect
me to do?”
“Shut up.  God, you’re so fucking stupid.”  Meg shoved at his arm, and he
placed a hand over it, expression wounded-- though it was ruined by the smile
on his lips.  “C’mon, dumbass.  We have to meet up with Charlie-- pizza night,
right?”
She moved past him, and Dean was compelled to follow at the simple mention of
food.  Pizza night was always something to look forward to.  It had been a
tradition since the eighth grade, meeting up at one of their houses to either
movie marathon or play DnD while chowing down on junk food and soda all night
every other Friday.  Trailing along beside her, he nudged into her side,
laughing when she puffed out an annoyed sound and pushed back.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?”  
“I think it’s been said once or twice.”  Dean nodded, looking vaguely
contemplative for a moment.  
As they walked back down the hall, he was forced to duck his head as he passed
a few teammates, not wanting them to see him.  Not after missing practice all
week.  Not considering the fact that he couldn’t play, not yet, not until his
grades were back up.  He didn’t want to face that yet.
Meg gave him a curious look as they exited the building, kicking at his ratty,
worn sneakers with a booted foot in question when he finally glanced back at
her.  “And what was that all about?  You skipping practice for us, pretty boy?”
“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”  He laughed, looping an arm around her
shoulders even as she gave a dramatic shudder at the touch of affection.
 “Nope.  Not skipping anything.  There’s a scrimmage today, but nothing
mandatory.  Sammy’s staying over at his friend Andy’s.  I’m all free for the
night.”
“Good.”  Meg shrugged out from under his arm, giving him a briefly threatening
look as they headed towards the parking lot where Dean had parked his Impala.
 “Because I’m pretty sure Garth got the-- and I’m quoting here, so please note
the derision-- mega super awesome extended edition of The Hobbit today.  Which
means--”
“Lord of the Rings marathon.”  Dean let out a long suffering sigh.  It was
their third one that year.  He loved it, honest, but sometimes too much was too
much.  “Think I have time to fake an illness?”
“Charlie would have your balls.”
“Charlie isn’t going anywhere near my balls.”  He scoffed, pausing as they came
up to his car, and he opened up the passenger side door for Meg to climb in.
 “Her hands aren’t going anywherebelow the belt-- not since that last time--”
“In Pasadena?  The LARPing convention?”  Meg snorted, leaning against the the
top of the car, watching as Dean rounded the front to make his way to the
driver’s side.  “Don’t be such a fucking princess, Dean-o.  You’ve still got
everything in one piece, don’t you?”
Dean came to a halt, hand hovering at the handle of his door as Meg slipped in
and slammed hers shut.  His thoughts strayed to Castiel, the way he’d looked at
him, the way he’d called him Princess in that goddamn voice--
Shaking it off, he sighed, opening his the car door with a jerk.  Great, that
douchebag was already fucking with his life and he’d barely had any
interactions with the man.  Fucking great.  It was going to be a longsemester.
===============================================================================
 
The problem with Castiel Novak was rather simple; he had no friends.  The
entirety of his schooling life hinged on occasional conversations from his
elder siblings, most of whom had now moved out of this shit hole of a town.
 The closest thing he had to a friend was Gabriel, and brothers didn't really
count.  Standing stock still outside the school gates, he waited with little
patience for his brother to turn up, watching the as the crowd thinned out to
little more than late stragglers and over achieving nerds that stayed back to
natter in their teachers ears.
It was what felt like an age until he saw Gabriel pull up, familiar grin in
place as he parked a purposeful distance from the gate, earning a rude gesture
from Cas.  Grunting softly, he glared at his brother from outside the car and
threw his bag in through the open window of the car, slamming the door after
himself when he climbed in.
"Heya, Cassie."  His brother greeted, knowing enough about Cas to see when he
was in a mood.
"Home.  Now."  Cas grunted, folding his arms almost petulantly as he negated to
respond to his brothers greeting.
It was a quiet drive home, parking next to the beaten up four-wheel drive of
their kooky neighbour, Rufus.  Their apartment was more than satisfactory for
two people, purchased in a last fit of good will from their eldest brother, at
least having the decency to set them up with a living space.
It wasn't until they were inside that Castiel was pinned with a familiar and
slightly demanding gaze, his brother watching his every move as he emerged from
his room, socked feet padding against dark carpet, accumulated dust and candy
wrapper littering the floor.
"Alright, out with it.  What's got your wings in a knot?"  Gabriel asked,
leaning against their-- mostly unused-- kitchen door frame.  The glare Cas was
sporting softened to a childish huff as he went into their bathroom, peeling
his shirt back to inspect the ink resting under still healing skin.  Thankfully
not as red now, just dry, and a little flaky.
"I've got another dumbass to tutor,"  he grumbled, fishing through the drawer
to find the pot of cocoa butter they kept, taking a swipe at it and rubbing
down the healing skin of his upper back and shoulders.  Surprisingly intricate
wings stretched from the middle of his back to his upper arm, individual
feathers inked into his skin.  Rolling his shoulders, Castiel rubbed the
makeshift lubricant into his back, trying to keep skin from scabbing over.
Gabriel gave a snort,  rolling his eyes as he picked at some dried noodle stuck
to the kitchen bench.  "On a scale of one to that last kid, how stupid is she?"
he asked.
"He.  Dean's a he.  Self-righteous, stuck-up prick of a thing.  Grades dropped
and he couldn't play.  One of those."  Cas replied, pulling his shirt back on
and walking back into his room to change.
"Your problem.  Now hurry up.  Bar opens soon, and you have people to hustle."
 His brother called back, waiting with a certain impatience for his kid brother
to hurry up.
===============================================================================
 
Between the pair, the brothers had a routine going in order to maximize profit
both legal and not quite so legal.  The bar Gabriel owned, dubbed Shape Shifter
upon renovation, was far neater than their apartment-- let their cleaning crew
be praised.  Best investment of Gabriel’s life.  A spotlessly polished dark
wood bar stretched from one end to the other, sectioning off a narrow alley way
for both Gabriel and his two surprisingly loyal, if snarky, barmaids Kali and
Sigrun to serve a steadily growing patronage each night.
Cas only ever showed his face Fridays and the occasional Sunday if he wasn’t
otherwise occupied, beguiling, charming and talking patrons into another two
rounds, and out of their jewelry in the case of a few unsuspecting, but very
pretty young women.
This was his stage, dully lit, throbbing music serving to hypnotise his
audience. His marks were always chosen carefully, those who'd come alone, or
had been left alone to wallow in their drinks were carefully singled out.  He
was sure never to push himself onto anyone, and he’d only dance with them if
they wanted to, though if he’d chosen a target well enough, they always asked
him to dance.
And dance they did.  Years of practise lending to an almost feline roll of his
body, knowing just when to pull close, and just when to whisper little nothings
into their ears.  Between the pulse of music and the occasional stolen kiss, it
took little effort for him to slip a hand into her purse, or his pocket and
retrieve their wallet, watch, necklace.  He’d even taken a diamond earing with
nothing but his teeth and a well placed hand.
His chosen target this evening wasn’t having any of his attentions, a
surprisingly short man who’d been ditched by what Castiel assumed to be his
friends, though they seemed a poor example.  The conversation started out
innocent enough; the weather, the price of eggs, politics.  But it soon turned
a little too personal for Cas’ liking.  How old are you, where do you work,
what’s your name.
This was not how he’d planned.  It was a rare occurrence, for him to have the
control of most of his situations taken away from him, having to rely on
practise and a sharp mind to get him out of these predicaments.
Shifting in barely veiled discomfort on his bar stool, Castiel shrugged as the
 inebriated man next to him prodded at him with nosy questions.
“What’d you say your name was again?”  he asked, a wash of beer reeking breath
passing over him.  Almost desperately, Castiel looked up at his brother behind
the bar, silently pleading with him to help.
“Sir!  How about another?”  Gabriel asked, taking the drunks attentions away
from his little brother for long enough so he could slip away unnoticed.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Castiel lent against an opposing wall, watching as
his brother poured another beer for his failed mark.  It was some time before
he left, and Cas could slink back to the bar, a little less cocky than he had
been.
“Losing your touch, huh, Cas.”  Gabriel teased, turning back to him for a
moment.
“Shut up.  I just chose badly.  Won’t happen again.”
===============================================================================
 
Groaning, Dean stretched, hands over his head and back arching and shirt-- deep
blue with a spaceship on it, the one from Firefly, that Charlie had bought for
him last Christmas-- rising with the movement.  He couldn’t remember the last
time he’d been to this part of the public library, but he certainly remembered
how uncomfortable the stupid desk chairs were.  His body was already aching,
reminding him of the physical exercise he was missing out on.  Muscles that
were used to strain, cramping up in memory as they fell lax, as he fell out of
shape.  He figured he’d start running, keep himself up and keep himself
together; before he’d started playing organized sports, it was always how he’d
relieve stress.  Considering everything, he was going to need it.
Slumping back down, he checked his watch and let out a long sigh.  He’d been
waiting for thirty minutes, for Castiel to show up, for them to start studying
or tutoring or whatever they were calling it.  And here he was.  Sitting alone.
 Bored out of his mind.
“Ten more minutes and I’m gone,” he muttered to himself, leaning back in his
seat and letting his head fall back to reveal the expanse of his neck as he
closed his eyes.  He could feel a headache coming on.  “Ten more minutes.”
 
 
One would think that two days would be ample recovery for what ended up being
an all night affair of an after party, a common occurrence whenever Gabriel did
make a grand appearance in his bar.  School had been an day of noise avoidance
and a crippling hangover, bluntly ignoring pesters of Mr.Shirley because no, he
was not going to elaborate on why he looked like death warmed over.
By the time he’d remembered it was indeed Monday, and he had a self-righteous
asshat to teach.  Arriving some half hour late, Castiel dragged himself into
the library, bag in hand, and the folder that Dean had given him clutched to
his chest in an unusual show of vulnerability.  All but throwing himself into
an unoccupied chair opposite Dean, he deposited his belongings onto the table
and fell face first onto the cool surface with a long sigh.
Startling, Dean gave a soft gasp, eyes widening as he caught sight of the man
slumped on the table across from him.  Swallowing thickly, he leaned forward
with a touch of wariness, brow furrowed as he glanced over him.  Hesitantly, he
nudged at his foot under the table, trying to catch his attention, to make sure
he hadn’t just passed out on the desktop.  “Party hard?”
Castiel gave a soft grunt, jerking his head only to regret the sudden
 movement, headache pounding as he looked up at him, all baggy eyed and bleary.
“My brother has the alcohol tolerance level of a Norse God.” He grumbled,
fumbling for the folder left strewn on the table, opening it without really
looking, a surprisingly neat print out he didn’t quite recall typing.  “What do
you want to begin with?” 
“Um...” he stared down at the few textbooks he brought, not sure where to
begin.  There was so much, and he suddenly felt so very overwhelmed.  His
grades, his future, everything.  It all relied on this and there was so much to
do, so much to try and make up for, and he didn’t feel like it was worth the
effort.  “I don’t know... I have history first period, so I guess that?”
Grunting softly, Cas nodded, sitting up with a quiet groan as his head ached.
 Scrambling through the papers Dean had given him, he cast a judgemental gaze
over some of his class notes.  “History.  Right.  I looked over your work.
 Your Latin sucks.  It’s Collegium not Collegiam.  You’ll need these terms for
your Roman topic.  You did cities of Vesuvius, right?  Pompeii and various
others.” He said, rubbing at his temples to try and ease the ache in his head.
“Yeah,” he shrugged, recalling covering the tragedy in class; he’d actually
been fascinated by it, had ended up watching a bunch of documentaries about it
with Sam while they were covering it.  It wasn’t that Dean was stupid, he did
well on his exams more often than not; it was that he didn’t like doing the
work.  “Mt. Vesuvius.  79 A.D.  erupted and sent ash and pumice covering
Pompeii and a bunch of other towns in Italy.  Like, six meters of it or
something?  Everybody died, blah, blah, blah... One of the oldest towns, super
advanced for the times.  The ash preserved everything-- artifacts, people,
everything.”  He felt a little thrill run through him, and he schooled his
features to disinterest.  He really had enjoyed learning about it.
“What’s the big deal with it?”  Dean asked, drumming his fingers on the
textbook.
“Pompeii is the best preserved city of the Roman Empire in the world.  Not
touched, not updated.  It’s a very big deal.”  He said, appearing a little
unsteady as he spoke.  Rubbing at his eyes for moment, he rested his head in an
open palm.  “And never call it Italy.  The region in the Roman Empire was
called Campania, Italy is a fairly modern concept.”
Dean’s brow furrowed, and he leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk.
 “Yeah, but Campania was in the Italian regionof the Roman Empire in the
territory of the municipality of Pompei-- along with Herculaneum and a number
of other villas.”  He paused, realizing what he’d just said, and cleared his
throat as he pressed back in his chair again.  Licking his lips, he glanced
down, trying to seem nonchalant.  “Or, you know, something like that.”
“Yes.  But Italy itself was not unified until afterRome fell.”  Cas said, blunt
as ever, as though dealing with an idiot.  It was most curious, for a flunking
jock, Dean seemed rather interested in history.  “What do you know about
Vesuvius itself?”
Dean bristled at his tone, sitting up a bit straighter in his seat, meeting his
gaze evenly.  “Mount Vesuvius.  In Italian: Monte Vesuvio.  In Latin: Mons
Vesuvius.  It’s a stratovolcano-- which, by the way, means that it’s a
composite volcano in a conical shape that is tall and has been built up of a
number of centuries by the hardened lava, tephra, pumice and volcanic ash it
expels and they’re known for their violent volcanic eruptions-- located on the
Gulf of Naples, Italy.  It’s the most dangerous of its kind and is one of the
volcanos in the Camanian volcanic arc, a line of both active and dormant
volcanoes that center on the bay of Naples.  
“Obviously, it’s best known for the Pompeii incident, which released about a
hundred thousand times the thermal energy that occurred at the Hiroshima
bombing in Japan.  It’s the only one that’s erupted in the last hundred years,
it’s most recent being in 1944, and is considered the most dangerous volcano in
the world because of the, oh, three million or so people who live nearby.  It
was formed by the collision of two tectonic plates-- the African and Eurasian
pieces-- and it’s name has a few different origins.  My favorite being, of
course, from the Greek root that ends up meaning ‘unquenchable’.”
Resting his elbows back on the table, he gave him a challenging look, face
stern and eyes hard and dark with irritation.  “Is that enough for you, or
would you like me to go into literary significance of it from Roman mythology?”
If Castiel was the type to gape, he would have.  Staring at him with an almost
owlish expression, he nodded slowly in agreement.  Swallowing thickly, he
looked over him, oddly impressed despite the blatant insult wrapped up in his
words.  Narrowing his eyes, he leant in, a little paler than usual, blue eyes
bloodshot.
“If you know all this, why are you failing history?”
Dean jerked back slightly at the question, finding their faces too close for
comfort.  Jaw flexing briefly, he inhaled sharply and looked away.  “I dunno.
 I just... don’t do the work.”
Why bother?  I’m gonna fail anyway.
“And I never turn up to class, and yet I’m almost topping every one I take.”
 He countered, not moving back from his position, finding the hang of his head
some comfort to his headache.  “I’ll ask you again.  Why are you failing?  You
know the content better than the notes you’ve been given.”
Swallowing down another dumbed down reply, he huffed and stared down at the
tabletop between the two of them.  “I don’t do the assignments.  You do.  It’s
not like I’m going to college anyway,” Dean glanced up briefly, giving a small,
seemingly uncaring shrug.  “Grades don’t matter.  So why do the work?  Now that
they do matter, I have to do the work, and part of the deal with Henriksen was
getting you as a tutor.”
Now this was getting interesting.  An actual person was talking to him as
opposed to the jumped up, conceited asshole who’d come begging for his help.
 With a slightly crooked grin, he looked up at him.  “When’s your next
assignment for history due?”  he asked, sensing a certain air of
competitiveness around him that, if mined correctly, could be beneficial to
both parties; more results for Dean, and less work for Castiel.
Meeting his gaze warily, he took a moment to flip through his mental schedule.
 “Wednesday.  Vocab list on the next chapter and a current event that’s a
direct or indirect effect of the historical event that we’re studying.  It can
take place in the city or whatever.  Why?”
“I want your draft tomorrow.  Hope you’ve started.”  Castiel said, tone boding
no argument as he stared over at him, gauging his reactions by the minute
shifts of his face.  “And if you haven’t, I can help you.”
Slightly taken aback at the sudden order, he scrambled for a moment, mind
reeling briefly.  “Uh, no.  I haven’t-- I haven’t started it yet.”
“Then you’d better.”  Castiel said flatly, leaning back in his chair, almost
disinterested as he flicked his gaze over him.
“Right,” he cleared his throat, shifting back in his seat, pulling his history
text to him and flipping it open with a sharp clatter that make him bite back a
wince.
The chapters were filled with scribbled notes and highlighted passages; Dean
had known that other students who had owned it would be blamed for all of it,
it was an old book and no one would suspect him of it, so he didn’t even bother
to blush when Castiel saw it all.  Pulling out a pen from the bag he had slung
over the shoulder of the chair next to him, he skimmed through to the right
page with one hand as he rummaged around his pack for a notebook to scrawl out
the vocabulary list and definitions from the chapter.  
His fingers ran over the page when he found the first one, moving down the
marked up paragraphs until he found the first bolded word-- the definition not
far from it.  Bringing his pen to his mouth, he bit down lightly on the cap and
pulled to remove it, eyes moving over to the blank page as he wrote the word
down with surprisingly neat handwriting that matched the notes in the margins
of his book.  He left the cap in between his lips, idly rolling it at the
corner of his mouth as he worked at an even pace.
About halfway through, he glanced up, noting that blue gaze on him and he
froze.  “What?”
Only slightly distracted with the way the lid of his pen disappeared between
oddly delicate lips, Castiel watched as he wrote, humming softly as he saw
unexpectedly neat handwriting.  Meeting his eyes, his brow ticked up, and he
folded his arms behind his head as he relaxed back, keeping a half interested
gaze on his progress.  With a lazy shrug, Cas rubbed at his shoulder, trying to
relieve the faint prickle of his skin. “I didn’t say stop.”
Huffing out an annoyed laugh, he dropped his pen onto the desk and pulled the
cap from between his lips as he braced himself and met his gaze again.
 “Listen, Castiel.  I get that you’re kind of used to getting your way, but
don’t try and pull that bullshit with me, okay?  Help me, that’s fine.  Tell me
I’m doing something wrong when I’m doing something wrong, great.  But bossing
me around like that?  It’s not gonna fly.”
Dean didn’t like the little thrill it sent through him.  Didn’t like the flare
of annoyance either.
“In fact,” he continued, slumping back, and looking every bit like the
underachiever he was perceived as.  “Doing it will probably just make things a
lot more difficult.  So cut it out.”
Castiel raised his head from its position hung back from his chair, looking at
him carefully, eyes narrowing off as he watched Dean slump back like the lazy
little shit he no doubt was.  “No, I won’t just ‘cut it out’, and if you don’t
like it, you can go find another tutor.”  He spat, in no mood to play around
with a failing junior.  “It’s simple.  You do the work I set for you, I read
it, fix up the mistakes, and then you get good marks.  Got it?”
There was no little zip of excitement this time; instead, it was all
irritation.  Rearing back slightly, his teeth grit as his jaw clenched, and he
paused for a long moment before he shook his head.  “You know what?  Fuck you.
 And-- And fuck this.”
Standing, he gathered up his things, stuffing them in his bag with sharp
movements.  He could feel desperation at the back of his throat, could feel
some part of himself begging him to sit back down, to ignore the dick across
from him, to get to work and fix things.  But he pushed it out of his mind,
slinging his bag over his shoulder, and stopped to give Castiel a glare.
“Thanks for wasting an hour or so on me.  Sorry for being such an
inconvenience.  But all of this?  Really, not worth it.”  He stated firmly.
 “Not worth the energy I could be spending elsewhere.  I’m not going to be
going anywhere, so what’s the bother, right?  It’d be a lot easier, and it
would make a lotmore sense, to just forget it.  So thanks anyway, but I’m gonna
go home now and figure out the easiest way to tell my brother that I’m dropping
out.  Because, really, that’s the only logical thing for me to do.  Hope I
don’t see you around, Castiel.  Have a good life.”
Dean moved to walk away, car keys clutched tight in his hand, and he headed
straight for the exit.  He needed air.  Needed to breathe.  Needed to know that
he was making the right choice.  Because he could drop out.  Could start
working fulltime at Bobby’s.  Maybe pick up a few shifts at Ellen’s.  Make
enough money to keep Sam and him in the black and send his brother off to
school.  Because out of the two of them, he deserved it.
It wasn’t unusual to have someone walk out on him; generally, Castiel just let
them go, but there was something about Dean’s predicament that made him falter.
 Sitting up, he watched as Dean packed up, clutching a hand into his jeans as
he left.  Why did he have to bring family into this?  Cas knew down to the
finest little increment of self-loathing what it was like to disappoint your
brothers.
Growling softly, he jostled his legs in effort to keep from getting up and
following him, frustration growing by the second until in one angry huff he
snagged his backpack and took after him, faster than he looked.
“Dean! Wait.”
Dean had barely made it outside, was just at the edge of the sidewalk when he
heard Castiel call after him.  Coming to a reluctant halt, he stared up at the
sky, cloudy in the mid-autumn season and threatening to rain as he forced
himself to calm down.  Forced that boil in his gut down to a slow simmer.  Foot
bouncing, he took a deep breath and then let it out, before turning around to
face him.
“What?  Did I forget something?”
Castiel skidded to a halt before him, expecting him to have gone further.
 Abruptly, he faltered, words lost for the first time in many years.  Breath
hitching, he found sudden interest in his boots, cursing himself quietly.  He
spoke the language of dominance, of violence, near fluently, but his
camaraderie was stilted and textbook learnt.  
“No.  No, you didn’t...  I just figured you shouldn’t give up so fast.”  He
mumbled, his usual confidence disappearing to reveal an awkward interior,
unaccustomed to making friends.
Dean’s gaze traced down over him, finding them too close to one another, and he
slid back a step.  He stumbled off the edge of the pavement, having to reach
out to catch himself, using Castiel’s upper arm to do so.  Castiel tensed up
out of reflex as his arm was grabbed, having to resist the urge to throw him
off.  The second he’d gotten his bearings, he jerked his hand back like it had
been burned, and he could feel the heat of a blush warming his face as he
dragged it through his hair, making it stand on end, mussed and awkward.  
“Um... That’s uh-- That’s nice.  Cute, really, that you’re-- I dunno, trying
here.  Trying to be the good guy, to convince me not to give up, but I don’t
need it.”  He stated, trying to will the flush on his face away.  Trying to
will the unfamiliar feeling that came with Castiel chasing after him,
attempting to convince him that he shouldn’t give up, not liking the way it
sort of made something in him flutter.  “I’ve thought about all of this
already.  Trust me, it’s not worth it.”
His hand dropped to his side, vaguely tingly from having touched Castiel, and
he flexed it to rid himself of the feeling.  “So thanks.  But no thanks.”
Rolling his shoulders when Dean let go of him, he took a step back, disliking
the situation, awfully vulnerable.  He narrowed his eyes again, trying to
fathom just how Dean considered this to be a good idea.  “Believe me.  It is
worth it.”  He said evenly, measured tones replaced what was usually a
disinterested deadpan.  “And you will need it, trust me.  Graduate, go to
college, and do something with yourself.”
“Okay, I’m not sure what’s got you out here trying to convince me to ‘do
something’ with myself.  But whatever it is you see in me, or you think you see
in me, is wrong.”  He held his arms around, hands splayed, and took a step back
as if he were on display for him.  “Because this is it.  There’s no depth here.
 No secret genius or hidden worth.  I’m just some stupid guy who’s pretty
mediocre at sports.  I’m not going anywhere.  There’s nothing to do with
myself.  Sorry, but you should just stop.  Putting any kind of hope in me is
just gonna earn you disappointment.”
Dropping his arms, he shrugged, looking apologetic and tired.  Worn down and
sick of trying.  “Again, sorry for wasting your time.”
Castiel didn’t say anything for a long time, simply peering at him, unsure what
was going through his thick skull.  Blinking at him, he tilted his head, the
smallest of smiles flicking his lips, realisation dawning.  “You don’t think
you deserve any of this, do you.”  He said, “You think nothing good will come
to you.”
Dean flinched, expression becoming suddenly shielded and blank, unreadable.
 Voice dull even as he kept his gaze.  “It’s true, isn’t it?  I mean, come
on... Don’t tell me you looked at me in the halls in passing, or whatever, and
saw potential or some bullshit.  We both know that you haven’t given me a
second glance until just now.  And we both know that it isn’t because I deserve
anything.”
“I don’t care what you think you see, and what you think you deserve.  You have
to get your grade point average up.”  Castel said, finding is argument flimsier
that he would have liked.  “You said you had a brother, right?  What do you
suppose he’s going to say when you turn up later?”
Leveling a warning look at him, he too a slow step forward, back up onto the
curb so that he wasn’t looking up at him anymore.  “You don’t know anything
about Sam.”
“But I know a lot about brothers,” Castiel said, not intimidated in the
slightest.  “And if I’m right, he won’t be happy at all.  I suggest we call a
truce.  I’ll tutor you, and you’ll get your grades up.  I won’t get expelled,
and you won’t miss the whole season.”
“You’ll get expelled?”
Dean looked confused, a small and rather endearing wrinkle appearing between
his eyebrows as he frowned at him.  It made sense, honestly.  When he thought
about it.  Castiel needed him to stay, not because he saw something in him, but
because he needed him in order to save his own hide.  Frowning, he stepped back
down slowly, almost fumbling again.  Hand coming up, he gripped the strap of
his backpack, curling around it almost vulnerably.  
It was one thing to ruin his own future.  But to ruin someone else’s?  To put
their potential at risk?  That was something else entirely.
He slowly nodded, swallowing.  “Yeah.  Okay.  Truce, then.”
Castiel nodded slowly, relieved that Dean had agreed with him.  “Thank you.”
 He said, surprisingly earnest.  “Did you honestly think they keep me around
for shits and giggles?  No, I stay because I keep people’s averages up.  Which
helps keep the school’s averages up.”  He added, a slightly bitter smile on his
lips, “I tutor you, and they don’t kick me out.”
“That’s...” He muttered, offering up a weak grin, like an olive branch.
 “That’s kinda fucked up.”
Rolling his shoulders, Castiel straightened out, his confidence returning to
him slowly, coaxed out by the weak grin on Dean’s face.  “Welcome to the
education system.” He muttered.
“Are their t-shirts?”  Dean jested, a small attempt to lighten the mood,
watching as Castiel stood up a bit taller.  He took it as relief.  “Because if
there aren’t t-shirts, I think I’ll bow out now.”
“I don’t know about t-shirts, but I still have the tuxedo jacket I stole from
Crowley’s wardrobe a few years back.”  Cas said, a little smirk curling his
lips, hoping his little anecdote may ease the way.
Dean’s eyes widened comically, and he sputtered a bit, staring at him in a mix
of disbelief and admiration.  “Are you serious, right now?”
“Does it look like I’m joking?” Castiel asked, one studded eyebrow raised,
expression sombre.
“No shit.”  He muttered, impressed, eyes drawn briefly to the dull shine of the
stud as it reflected what little light there was with the movement.  “You know,
I really thought most of that was just rumor.  You seriously do that kind of
thing?  Knew about the bit at the convenience store last Spring, but I sort of
thought it was a one time deal considering Jodi let you off so easy.”
Cas shrugged, less modest and more unwilling to really elaborate on his
reasons.  At the mention of the Sheriff, he halted, brow furrowing a little.
 “You know her?”  he asked, genuinely surprised that somebody like Dean would
be on first name basis.
Dean flushed again, palming the back of his head with a faint wince.  “Yeah.
 Yeah, she kind of dates my boss.”  And brings home my dad when he’s blind
drunk.  And kept me distracted when they carted my mom’s body away.  “Nice
woman.  Great sense of humor.”
Humming softly, Castiel nodded, appeased by his answer, though it did raise a
few questions.  “So your boss is the surly looking trucker guy that loiters
around every Friday?”  he asked, recalling the bearded man that had a tendency
to simply shake his capped head whenever Cas was sitting in a, sadly, familiar
cell.
“Yeah,” Dean chuckled, peering up at him, expression amused but curious.  “That
sounds like Bobby, alright.  He around the Police Station on Friday nights
often?”
“More often than I am.  I think he left flowers once.”  He replied, snorting a
quiet laugh at the memory.
“That big sap,” he grinned, muttering mostly to himself.  “That’s a good thing
to remember for later when he tries to get me to change Ms. Ferguson’s oil
again.  She needs to trash that car.”
An awkward silence fell between them, and Dean cleared his throat.  Stepping
back up onto the curbside, he felt his skin prickle in reply to the increased
proximity between them.  It was an uncanny feeling, and what was worse was the
fact that he didn’t know if he liked it or not.  
“So... tutoring?”
A soft, but very fleeting smile curled his lips, and briefly, Castiel wondered
if this was what friendly conversation actually felt like, strangely warm in
all the best ways.  Jerked out of his thoughts, he nodded quickly, walking away
at the reminder.  “Yes.  Tutoring.  Right.”
“You, uh, you know that I don’t actually need a tutor, perse.”  Dean said, sort
of wary.  “I mean, I know the material.  It’s just... applying it to the work
that I need someone to help me with.  That I need someone to, you know, keep me
on track?”
Castiel considered this for a moment, walking back into the library to settle
at the table they’d previously occupied.  “Someone to keep you on track....
 See, why can’t you be like the rest of the idiots I get lumped with?”  He
said, mostly joking as he looked over at him. “I can help you with that.”
Following after him, he took his seat once more, slowly taking his books back
out to set them on the tabletop between them.  Smiling small but genuine at his
teasing, Dean shook his head and started flipping his history book back open.
 Glancing over at him, he paused, eyes narrowing briefly.
“You realize it’ll be a lot of just... sitting there, right?  Until I need you
to look over something or whatever?”  he asked, really not wanting a repeat
performance of what had happened before he stormed out.  “Just a lot of
motivating-- not bossing, but motivating?”  
Having since swallowed a little of his pride, Castiel nodded, watching as he
flicked through his book.  “I know. I can be very patient if I have to be.”  He
said, “I suppose I can manage motivation.”
“Oh, yeah?”  Dean grinned, the pen cap back in his mouth already, and he
glanced up from where he had begun scribbling down more notes on his paper.
 “And how, exactly, are you planning on motivating me?”
The second the words were out of his mouth, Dean faltered, eyes widening
minutely.  Was he flirting with him?  Jesus christ, what the hell was he
thinking?  Flirting with Castiel Novak?  That blush was back, worse than ever,
and spreading to his ears.  His gaze fell back to his textbook, and he cleared
his throat, swallowed, and then cleared his throat again.
“Sorry-- Th-- that was-- Ignore that.”
Staring at him for a moment, Cas gave a shrug, a slow smirk curling his lips.
 “That depends on how you prefer to be motivated,” he said, far too casual to
have any real depth behind it, though the smug look on his face gave away his
tease.
Dean felt his heart give an embarrassing stammer in his chest, and he quickly
squashed the feeling, refusing to look up and take the bait he’d practically
hooked for himself.  “Free food generally does the trick.  Video games, music,
old comics, cars.  I’m surprisingly easy--” he huffed out a breath, hanging his
head as he cut himself off.  “And I should probably stop talking now.”
Castiel ignored that last part, leaning in to rest against an open palm,
smirking like the cat that got the cream.  “Surprisingly easy?”  he asked,
voice dropping to a low purr.
 Contrary to popular belief, Cas knew how to flirt; in fact, a vast portion of
his income depended on his ability to charm people. To him, this was just a bit
of fun because there was no way in hell that he’d actually do anything with
Dean Winchester.  This was simply another act.
Actually, Dean was surprisingly not easy.  The fact was, he imagined he would
be, if the right person came along and the situation arose.  But he’d never had
the time, never had the opportunity.  A few heated sessions in the back of the
Impala-- bit of heavy petting and the like-- and one particularly close call
after the state final meet last year in their hotel with a Senior from another
school named Aaron Bass was all the experience he really had.
But he had a reputation.  A part to play.  Glancing up, he shoved his nerves
back down, grinning slyly around the pen cap.  He knew he had a mouth that
people daydreamed about, and he knew that it looked enticing wrapped around
anything.  
“Incredibly easy,” he confirmed, but it wasn’t a genuine admission; it didn’t
meet his eyes.  
Frankly, Castiel had seen better attempts at seduction before, but even he had
to admit, Dean Winchester had some tempting lips, stretched just this side of
shamefully attractive.  Keeping his gaze steadily on him, he followed the curve
of his mouth for a moment, flicking up to meet his eyes only to find that
something didn’t quite match.
“No, you’re not.”  He said flatly.
There was a flash of something, something like excitement, enjoying the little
flare of challenge that went through him.  “Oh?  And what makes you so sure?”
Part of him wanted to go on about the importance of charactorial belief, but
that would violate the character that Cas himself wore everyday.  Shrugging a
little, a smug look pulled at his lips.  “Your eyes.  There’s no feeling there.
 You’re talking to me, but you don’t mean it.”
“My eyes, huh?”  He leaned forward, losing some of that precious space they’d
had between them as he recapped his pen and set it aside.  “What are my eyes
telling you then?”
The ever narrowing space did nothing to worry him; if anything, it allowed him
to see the tiny flecks of colour in his eyes, the countless freckles dotted
along his nose.  “You’re not easy at all.  In fact, I’d say the closest you
ever get to sex is your left hand.”
Dean grimaced, overdramatic and all for show, as he was tempted to lean back
again, wanting distance between them with the suddenly intimate and near
truthful topic, but knowing it would be revealing his hand and forfeiting
whatever competition they were in.  “See?  You’re wrong.  Been there, done
that, and when I do have to work a little tension off solo?”  He’d played this
game with too many people, faked being this person too many times to be read so
easily, and even though there was a buzzing warmth of embarrassment humming
through him and just under his skin, he gave off a rather convincing air of
false confidence as leaned in just a bit more and lowered his voice to a soft
husk.  “I don’t just use my left hand.”
Castiel raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to regard him steadily.  “Your
right then?”  He asked, “Or perhaps you prefer you fingers?”  He leered, lips
curling in an almost predatory manner.
Dean’s breath hitched, so soft it was barely audible, and he felt his heart
lurch in his chest as heat flooded through him.  His lips parted slightly,
subconsciously, and he shrugged a single shoulder in feigned nonchalance.  “Or
perhaps a bit of both.  But that is for me to know, and you to never find out.”
He could hear the hitch in his breathing, chuckling lowly at the way his lips
parted.  “I don’t know, I can be very persuasive if I need to be.”  He said,
making no indication of noticing the thrill that came with such knowledge, with
the way he could pull at Dean’s strings.
“Oh?”  Dean’s head canted to the side, and he offered up one of those charming
grins-- the one that had won him many a girl’s affections and more than a bit
of interest from the same sex.  “So we’re back to persuading and motivating,
are we?”  Teeth dragged over his bottom lip, slowly and enticingly, and he felt
interest stir in him-- unbridled and honestly rather frightening-- even as he
kept playing.  “And ‘need’ is an awfully strong word.  You really think you’ll
need to be persuasive?”
“Persuasion, motivation-- they’re surprisingly simple.”  Castiel shrugged,
trying not to get too distracted by the way Dean’s grin curled over his mouth,
though he ended up watching for a moment.  Well aware of the proximity between
them, he let his tongue flick out to run along his lower lip.  He moved his
hand away from the side of his face to reach out, trailing the very tips of his
fingers along Dean’s jawline, confident that would be enough to break him.
 “Now that just depends on you, doesn’t it.”
Jerking back from the touch, his eyes widened, and a flush spread over his
face, to his ears, and down his neck beneath his shirt.  Words were one thing,
physical acts another.  
His stomach flopped, and he swallowed thickly as he sat back to put a bit of
space back between them.  Regarding him warily, he quickly gathered himself
back together, and smoothly plucked up his pen and popped it back open, making
sure not to put the pen cap in his mouth this time.  Meeting his gaze once
more, he offered up a small smile, as if saying he won the battle but he hadn’t
won the war.
“Like I said,” he muttered, scribbling down another vocabulary word.  “Food,
music, cars.  You want to get me to work, make sure there’s a pizza or a
burrito from Chipotle on hand, and we’re good.”  Peering up at him through
thick lashes, eyes alight with hesitant amusement.  “See?  Surprisingly easy.”
That same smug look took over his face again, leaning back in his chair, an odd
thrill running through him at his victory.  Watching with his usual intensity,
Castiel smirked at him, “Surprisingly easy,” he all but purred.
Rolling his eyes, he didn’t even bother with a response before he set back to
work, moving at an even pace.
 
 
It didn’t take him long to finish his history assignments.  He moved through
them steadily, humming under his breath and drumming his fingers in time as he
worked-- a slow Aerosmith number that kept him focused.  When he was officially
secure in their completion, he pushed the papers across the table for Castiel,
shutting his history book and then pulling another text to him so that he could
open it and start working on another homework assignment without needing to be
asked or told.
Skimming through his Biology textbook as he filled out a worksheet, he didn’t
bother to glance up when he spoke.  “So, how long are we doing this today?  And
how often are we meeting?”
Castiel soon took to staring absently out the window, occasionally fiddling
with the smooth protruding end of his scaffold piercing, blackened metal
skewering cartledge from the outer edge of his ear to the inner helix.  His
fiddling was broken by the push of papers towards him, attention drawn to the
stack of paper as he pulled it closer, looking over it with veiled interest.
 “You spelt Vespasian wrong, but otherwise it's good.”  He said after a moment
of reading.  “We’ll meet every Monday, say an hour and a half at first, see how
you do.”
Dean paused, looking up at him before he nodded, finding the amount of time
perfectly agreeable.  “Alright.  Sounds good to me.”  Turning back to the
worksheet, he continued talking, mostly to himself.  “Maybe I can pick up a few
more hours at Bobby’s since I don’t have anything else to do until my grades
are back up.”
Nodding, Castiel returned to absently staring, tempted to get out his book
again, though he couldn’t let Dean see his secret little hobby.  “What is you
do for him again?”
“I fix cars,” he mumbled absently, but he stopped when he realized Castiel
might want some kind of clarification.  “Uh, you know, engine repair and oil
changes.  If it’s broken, I can probably fix it, or recommend a person who
can.”
“Yeah, I know what a mechanic is, dumbass.”  Cas snorted, propping booted feet
up on the table as he leant back in his chair.
The look Dean gave him was one of antipathy, expression dull and vaguely
annoyed as he ignored the comment, and he glanced at his shoes with something
like derision.  “Good to know you’ve found the softer side of Payless.”
Giving a shrug, Castiel moved his feet a little.  “They fit, I can move in
them, and they hurt when you kick.”  He said in thinly veiled threat.
Dean’s brows rose, more bemusement then fear, not taking the warning seriously
in anyway.  Castiel had been known to get violent, but only as a last resort.
 And he hadn’t given him any reason to; he definitely didn’t plan on it.  “Must
come in handy.”
“More for running than kicking.”  He replied, “Blood stains tend not to come
out.”
“Oh, believe me, I know.”  Dean huffed out a laugh; he’d dealt with his fair
share of bloodstains.  Between Sam’s-- skinned knees and split lips from too
much playing-- and his own-- from soccer, to accidents in the Bobby’s Garage,
and incidents with his father-- he knew exactlyhow hard blood stains were to
get out.  
Raising a mildly surprised eyebrow, Castiel made a soft grunt, leaning back in
his chair to balance perfectly on the back two legs.
They fell back into a shockingly comfortable silence; Dean working and Castiel
going over what he gave him.  It was odd, sitting there with him.  But not bad.
 If anything, he felt strangely at ease in his presence, and he went back to
humming to himself as he worked, content to do his assignments for as long as
they were there.  And it was sort of nice, having someone aside from Sammy
pushing him, even if Castiel was only doing it to save his own-- admittedly,
very nice-- ass.  
Smiling faintly, he glanced up at him, just brief enough to not be noticeable,
and kept on working.
Chapter End Notes
     Chapter 2 Title Song: "My Own Worst Enemy" by Lit
***** You're My Blue Sky, You're My Sunny Day *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
Considering the unwillingness of both parties involved, Castiel found the
entire tutoring process to be agreeable; Dean, much smarter than he seemed,
hardly needed prompting, and most of the time he was reduced to sitting idle
whilst Dean scribbled away at his notes.  After a few weeks, a mutual, if
hesitant, acquaintanceship was reached; both of them deciding it was best to
keep the snipes and snarks to a minimum to preserve their collective patience.
With a long sigh, Castiel stared absently down at his own study notes, unable
to focus on science of any kind right now, let alone anatomy.  Huffing softly,
he peeled off his jacket, draping it unceremoniously over the table, the ends
of his tattoo peeking out from his shirt, finally healed.  Jiggling one leg
impatiently, he tapped a pen incessantly against the desk, tap-tap-tapping away
as he tried to concentrate to no avail.  Every so often he’d flick his gaze up
to Dean, watching as he wrote only to get bored with that too, refocusing on
the way each shelf was angled; anything to avoid work.
His mind wandered in his staring, recounting the shopping list Gabriel had
given him two days previous, and the stupid argument he and Dean had gotten
into over the stupid way he tapped along to non-existent songs, wonderful
hypocrisy considering his own current pen tapping.
“You’re doing it again,” Dean murmured around the pen cap, a habit he still had
yet to shake despite the awkward teasing Castiel had done the third session
they’d had.  Something about having the mouth of a porn star. 
He didn’t bother to look up, despite the way his eyes were screaming at him
to.  He’d been reading for far too long; everything was starting to blur
together.  Blinking a few times, he slumped in his position, posture terrible
as he curved over to read through Beowulf.  He was searching for a usable quote
for an essay he had to do-- he’d decided to do something along the lines of:
completely dividing the world into “us” and “them” because of a deep-seeded
fear of what we do not understand, the often violent reactions people have to
that which they fear, and how it is a common theme in literature.  However, as
interesting as the topic was, he’d been reading the same passage over and over
for the last five minutes.
And the essay wasn’t even due until next Friday.
“Shut the fuck up.” Castiel grumbled, no threat behind his words as he threw
himself almost petulantly back in his chair, feet coming up to rest on top of
his own notes with an odd fluidity. “I’m bored shitless here. You think
watching you read is great entertainment?”
Dean glanced up, pen between his lips, and he grinned wickedly.  “I think I’m
entertaining as hell.”
“You been there?” Cas asked, all sarcasm as he jiggled his knee in attempt to
relieve the boredom.
“Have you been to my neighborhood?”  Dean replied, glancing back down at his
book, but still finding himself unable to move past where he’d been.  “We’re
talking some Nightmare on Elm Streetkind of bullshit.”
Tossing his pen aside, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, right between his
eyes as he tried to relieve some of the tension there.  Sighing, long and drawn
out, he peered over at Castiel tiredly.  Dean gazed curiously at his notes, and
then at the lounging man before him, brow furrowing briefly.
“Don’t you have a test to study for?”
Cas idled, hanging his head back, vaguely aware of the eyes on him as he
lounged back, shirt riding up a little as he stretched out.  Raising his head a
little, he shrugged, “Yeah. And?”
“And,” he replied, straightening in his seat and pointedly not looking at the
appealing strip of skin that revealed itself as Castiel stretched.  Tilting his
head, he snapped his book shut, enjoying the way it seemed to make his tutor
startle just a bit before their gazes met, and lifted a questioning eyebrow. 
“And you’re not studying?”
He grumbled, looking over at him with a faint glare as he relaxed again.  “Its
just science.  I’ll be fine.”  He replied, almost too casual to be talking
about some of his last exams.
“So you’re not studying,” he confirmed, and hesitated for just a moment before
he leaned forward, almost excitedly.  “Then let’s get out of here.”
Brow furrowing, Castiel sat up, his interest gained.  “And where would we go?”
“Could drive up to Arcadia-- the Wilderness Park.  It’s forty minutes out. 
Could park by the lake, hang out or something?”  There was a fear bubbling up
in him, feeling vaguely foolish as soon as the suggestion had rolled off of his
tongue.  Just because he liked to go up to the lake and think didn’t mean
anyone else enjoyed it.  “Unless you have another idea?  Or unless you’d rather
study?”
Considering it for a moment, Castiel nodded, seeing no reason why he
shouldn’t.  Anything was better than this.  “Does it look like I want to
study?”  He deadpanned, “How are we getting there? I don’t drive.”
Smirking, Dean pulled out his keys, and they jingled faintly as he waved them
in the air.  “Don’t worry.  I do.”
Dean was quick to gather his things.  To say he wanted out of that library was
an understatement-- he spent too much time there as it was, with tutoring and
volunteering.  Standing, he slung his bag over his shoulder, and shoved his
chair back under the table.  Walking around it, he swiped at Castiel’s feet
urgingly, gesturing with his head over to the exit. 
“Come on, Prince Charming.”  He said, already backing towards the door.  “It’s
midnight, and we need to get out of here before we turn into pumpkins.”
Rising to his feet, Castiel rolled his shoulders a little as he packed up his
things, eager to get out of the library, even if it meant putting up with
Dean’s bad jokes.  “That was terrible.”  He said flatly, following him out.
“I think I’m hilarious,” Dean chortled, grinning wryly at him. 
The Impala sat waiting for them, sun glinting off the paint perfectly.  Dean’s
grin softened into a genuine smile at the sight and anticipation buzzed in him;
going out for long drives like this were something he’d enjoyed doing since he
was a kid. 
Back before John had completely lost himself in the bottle, he would take him
and Sam out to some of Mary’s favorite places.  He had even pulled them out of
school for a week to drive across the country once.  Dean liked traveling,
liked getting lost out on the road.  He’d been taking the Impala out by himself
since he learned how to drive her, and couldn’t count the times Sheriff Mills
had caught him out in the Chevy underage.  She’d always been surprisingly
lenient considering, probably because he always obeyed the traffic laws, at
least within her district.  When he was stressed or everything was too much, he
could always just... take off.  For an hour, for a day.  But he always came
back, because Sammy was waiting for him at home.
Sometimes, though, he thought of just driving away.  Packing everything up, and
just leaving.  Forgetting everything and everyone, living from moment to
moment.  Unfortunately, Dean had responsibilities.  Ones that he would never
think about bowing out of.  Sam came first.  Always.
Opening up the driver side door, he tossed his back into the back, and glanced
over at Castiel where he had stopped a few feet away from the car.  Leaning
against the edge of the roof, he looked at him expectantly, still smiling in
that contented manor.
“Your chariot awaits, Charming.”  He informed him matter of factly, pressing
against the side of his car, enjoying the heat that ebbed off of it from
sitting so long in the sun.  “Are you getting in or what?”
Castiel raised a thoroughly unimpressed eyebrow, snorting softly at the car;
he'd never been one for cars, small, and stuffy, and slow.
"I'd hardly call this a chariot.  More an ox cart."  He retorted, reluctantly
getting in anyway, depositing his bag over on the back seat.
“Do not insult my baby,” Dean told him in all seriousness as he ducked into the
Impala.
His hands stroked over the wheel with a deep familiarity, and he stuck his key
into the ignition with a smooth motion that spoke of practice.  The engine
purred to life, radio clicking on and streaming out a Zeppelin song as he
shifted into drive.  Pulling out of his space, he peeled out of the parking
lot, not even giving Castiel a chance to buckle in before he was taking them
down the street, headed for the highway.
“Your baby?”  Cas asked, almost disbelieving as he settled in, pulling over his
belt because frankly, he didn’t want to die in a relative stranger’s car.  As
the radio started, he crinkled his nose, taking the initiative to fix the damn
station because Zeppelin, really?
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”  The car swerved subtly, and Dean reached out to smack his
hands away from the dials.  Straightening back out, he gave him an aghast look
from the driver’s seat, and shook his head.  “What do you think you’re doing?”
Castiel tensed as the car swerved, taking a death grip on the inside door
handle.  “Changing the fucking channel.”  He snapped, fiddling with the dials
until something less ancient started playing.
Dean laughed, a bark of sound, and moved to change the station back as soon as
Castiel’s hands were out of the way.  “Nuh uh.  I don’t think so.”
With a long suffering sigh, Cas sat back in his seat, a little petulant as the
channel was changed again.  “What are you, eighty?”
“No.  I just happen to have good taste.  You’ll learn to appreciate it, trust
me.”
Snorting softly, Castiel relaxed back again, tapping insistently at the window
frame.  “Whatever.”
“Oh, my god.”  Dean practically giggled, eyes straying from the road to take
him in for a moment, he smiled lopsidedly and came to an easy stop at a red
light.  “Are you sulking?”
“Shut the fuck up,”  he grunted.  “I don’t sulk,”  he insisted, knowing it was
a little bit of a lie.
Biting back another amused sound, Dean watched the light turn to green and
rolled forward at an easy pace.  The song changed over, some old tune by the
Allman Brothers Band, and he started drumming his fingers against the steering
wheel in time with the beat.  He glanced over at him again, seeing the look on
his face, and finding it nothing short of precious.
“What do you call that, then?”
Castiel made no attempt to reply, knowing he couldn’t if he wanted to keep what
remained of his dignity.  His bottom lip protruded a little without his
consent, but pulled it back to avoid the pout when he noticed.
Dean bit his lower lip, swallowing down another jibe.  He kept his eyes
forward, on the road, and drove on.  It wasn’t until they had hit the highway
and a string of commercials came streaming out of the stereo that he tried to
pick up the conversation again.  It wasn’t anything big.  Just a comment on the
weather, like the complete lameass that he was, and how it’d been so clear for
the last week-- asking how long he thought it was going to last like that
before the Fall season set in.
Turning to look over at him, Castiel raised an eyebrow at the sheer lameness of
his questions.  “The weather, really?  Out of all the possible conversation
topics, you choose the weather?”  He asked, practically dripping in insult.
Rolling his eyes, a faint blush burned at his cheeks, and he gave him a dry
look.  “You got anything better to talk about?”
“I don’t know.  Anything but the fucking weather.”  He grumbled.
“...what’s your favorite color?”
“I don’t know...  Blue, I guess.”  He replied, unsure as to why that was
important.
Dean hummed, not exactly surprised by his answer.  Aside from black, blue
seemed like a staple color in Castiel’s daily wear.  And if Sam ever found out
he was thinking about another man’s clothing choices, he would never live it
down. 
“Okay.”  He swallowed, finding their conversation so very stilted and
uncomfortable, wishing Charlie or Meg was there to break the ice for him. 
“Um... favorite movie?”
“I don’t watch much television.”  He said, almost not wanting to reveal his
strange obsession with the Sound of Music.
“Good thing I didn’t ask about TV, then.”  Dean replied, giving him a pointed
look.  “Favorite movie.  C’mon, man, you’ve gotta have one.”
“I don’t watch those either, though I can be partial to a Tarantino on
occasion.”  He said deflectively, tone boding no further prying in the subject.
“Oh, so you saw Django?”  Dean asked curiously, happy to have found something
they could talk about.  “Did you like it?”
“It was entertaining.  Shame the German died though.”  He replied, mostly
absent considering it was a fairly safe opinion.
Nodding, Dean paused in the stiff conversation to change lanes, tired of riding
a Honda’s ass.  The engine revved as he picked up speed, flying smoothly past
car after car, ten or so miles above the limit.  “To be honest?  I didn’t
really like it.  I thought it was basically just a pre-Civil War era Kill
Bill.  Don’t get me wrong, it was funny and classic Tarantino, but not his
best.”
Only a little concerned at the increasing speedometer, Castiel gave a shrug. 
“True.  It was good though, easy to watch, didn’t have to think much.”
“That’s not the sign of a good film,” Dean made a face, shaking his head.  “A
good film isn’t about not thinking, it’s about story and acting and
cinematography all coming together to... you know, take you someplace you’ve
never been.  Experience things you otherwise wouldn’t.”
Castiel raised an eyebrow at him, surprised that Dean would actually care about
these kinds of thing.  “Yeah.  I guess so.”  He said, nodding his agreement,
though part of him wanted to discuss the filmic and acting techniques of
cinema.
Looking away from the road again, he glanced over at his passenger, that
endearing wrinkle appearing between his brows.  “You... really don’t care about
this stuff, do you?”  he asked, feeling foolish for even bothering.  “I mean,
what do you like to do, aside from skip classes and steal candy from
convenience stores for your older brother?”
A very repressed part of him wanted to shout ‘I take acting classes and read
plays and spend weekends rehearsing,’ but he managed to contain that urge,
instead clearing his throat to shrug a little. “I uh... Work at a bar, I run
from authoritarian figures because I already have a police record that I’d
rather not add to.”
“And you...” Dean paused, looking back to the road, and making sure to wave at
another driver as they pulled one lane over to let him pass.  “You enjoy doing
those things?  Or you just do them.”
Cas shrugged again, “The bar’s fun, if you talk to the right people, and the
running is interesting at the time, though I generally regret it later.”  He
replied, trying to keep much of his personal life out of the picture.
“Ohh-kay,” Dean drew out the word slowly, noting the sort of withdrawn manor
Castiel was talking to him with, and he felt like maybe he should just stop
pressing.  They didn’t have to be friends; Dean had just thought maybe they
could be.  “I’m assuming you don’t want to know anything about me, so I guess
we’ll just go back to awkward silence?”
Castiel abruptly shook his head, turning to him with an oddly interested gaze. 
“No. I’d quite like to know about you.”  He said, wanting to draw the
conversation away from himself.  He trusted Dean a little, but nowhere enough
to tell of his life.
Almost choking on his own tongue, he sputtered for a moment, and then blushed
just a bit as he glanced over at him.  “Seriously?”  he asked, voice vaguely
rough.
Cas shrugged again, an amused smile curling his lips at Dean’s reaction. 
“Sure.  You seem interesting enough.”
“Um... alright... What do you-- I mean, what do you want to know?”
“What’s your favorite color?” Cas asked, throwing Dean’s words straight back at
him, at a bit of a loss as to what was acceptable to ask about.
“Oh, so you have a sense of humor?”  Dean laughed, looking over him in
bemusement, tease in his voice; his expression softened, though, as he looked
back at the highway.  His tone did too as he thought of his mother and her eyes
and the apples that grew in their backyard.  “Green.”
Sensing some kind of underlying emotional content, Castiel decided colors were
not a good topic.  “And what do you like to watch?”  he asked, tone a little
wary, moving in patterns he generally avoided, gaining information for the sole
purpose of getting to know someone as opposed to trying to gain some kind of
manipulatory leverage.
“That is a loaded motherfucking question,” he chortled, almost glancing at him
again, but refrained as someone pulled in front of him abruptly, and he growled
out a curse under his breath.  “You sure you want to get into that?”
It took him a moment to see the error in his wording, mentally cringing at his
own stupidity.  “No.  You probably shouldn’t answer that.  I don’t think I want
to know your porn habits.”  He said dryly, “Unless you think it would interest
me, then by all means, go ahead.”
Dean went beet red-- that blush that disappeared down beneath the hem of his
shirt.  “Not what I was talking about.  I literally meant that I watch way too
many television shows to be considered healthy.”
“Oh.  Right.”  Cas mumbled, suddenly feeling very stupid.  “I suppose that’s
interesting as well.”  He added, trying to fix his error, but probably making
it worse.
Almost bashfully, Dean shrugged, clearing his throat past the embarrassment of
their communication error.  He hesitated for a moment, not really sure if
Castiel truly wanted to know what Dean wasted his time watching.  Catching
sight of the exit they needed, he started the slow drift over in the lanes,
turn signal on as he made his way towards it. 
“Do you want a list?”  he asked, checking over his shoulder in his blind spot. 
“Or just a general idea?”
“If the list is as long as I think it is, then no, just the rundown.”  Cas
said, offering a slight smile.
“Just a bunch of nerdy stuff, really.  Stupid shit that no one really expects. 
You know, BSG, Star Trek, Doctor Who--anything by Joss Whedon, so Firefly and
the like.  Plus a few random others.  During the summer I watch this stupid law
drama called Franklin and Bash.”
Dean paused, looking over at him as they came to a rolling stop at another
light.  “You should watch some of them sometime.  I’d start easy, though. 
Don’t just jump into Who or Whedon.  They’ll rip your heart out and feed it to
you.”
Castiel just sat there looking blank, names passing right over his head. 
Wasn’t a firefly just a bug?  “I know Doctor Who....  The one with the blue
phone booth thingy....  But what the fuck is a BSG?”  He said, brow furrowed in
confusion.
“First of all, it’s called the TARDIS.”  Dean replied with a half-cocked grin,
starting slightly when the light changed back to green.  “And BSG stands for
Battle Star Galactica.  I watch the new show, not the old one, though both are
good.  It’s about this war, between the humans and the Cylons--” he cut himself
off awkwardly.  “--and you probably don’t care.”
The furrow in his brow only deepened as Dean ‘explained’ or at least tried
too.  “What the hell is a Cylon?”  he asked, interested though he didn’t see
the appeal in Sci-Fi; Gabriel was always trying to get him to watch those
ancient movies with him. Trek something, he didn’t care.
“It’s like an Android, if you’ve ever seen Alien or played any futuristic video
game ever made,” Dean supplied, taking a right turn as he headed for Interstate
210.  “Except super advanced.  And they turned on the humans who made them and
started a war-- but this takes place after the humans are on the run, hunting
for a planet that was Earth.  Pretty good, honestly.  Really interesting
twists.”
Honestly, he thought Android was a phone.  Nodding slowly, Castiel processed
what he was hearing.  “Perhaps if I get a spare moment I’ll look into it.”  He
said evenly, making a mental note to find a stream site.
“For real?”  Dean looked over, surprised for a moment, but had to look back as
he merged on to a different highway.
“It seems interesting enough, and I get bored easily.”  Cas said, fiddling idly
with the bar through his right ear.  One of these days he’d break that habit,
today was not that day.
Dean’s mouth curved, mildly impressed with his own selling skills, “You’ll have
to tell me if you like it or not.  Who your favorite character is, that sort of
thing.”
Nodding, Castiel took to staring out the window again, watching cars and rather
uneventful scenery fly past.  “I’m a little possessive of characters.”  He said
quietly.
“Yeah?”  Dean asked, genuine interest in his tone.  “Don’t watch any of Joss’
stuff, then.  Like I said-- rips your heart out and feeds it to you.  He takes
a keen kind of pleasure in letting you get attached, only to kill them off
later.  It’s painful business.”
Castiel snorted a faint laugh.  “I take your Joss and raise you a William
Shakespeare.”  He said flatly, taking a little chance in letting Dean know a
bit about him.
“No, that’s different,” he said, no judgement evident in the way he spoke. 
“Shakespeare is great and all-- the tragedies are tragic, and the comedies are
comedic, and the romance is to die for.  But when it comes to getting attached
to a character and losing them?  Whedon does it better.  Because it’s literally
going to be your favorite, every goddamn time.  And you never see them coming.”
Humming softly, Castiel nodded his agreement, despite never having watched
anything by this Whedon.  “Why do you watch these things again?”  he asked, not
seeing the logic in going after such pain.
“Because despite the really just terriblefucking deaths, the shows are
awesome.”
“Masochist.”  Cas chuckled, leaning back in his seat as he waited for the
damned car to stop already, the enclosed space was getting to him.
“Well, when the mood takes me,” he bantered playfully, but there was a hint of
honesty just under the surface.
Raising an eyebrow, Castiel let a leer curl his lips, “I’ll keep that in
mind.”  He purred, picking on the glimmer of truth in Dean’s jest.
Glancing over at him, he met his gaze with a wicked sureness, lips curling into
a lopsided but charming smile.  “I’m sure you will.”
Smirking at him,  Cas let his head fall back against the surprisingly clean
upholstery, strangely comfortable with Dean despite their unsteady
relationship.
Sensing the conversation had come to an end, at least for a while, Dean turned
his full attention back onto the road.  Onto the drive.  He let his focus
center on moving along, speeding just enough to pass other cars, and he hummed
along with the Creedence song that came drifting through the speakers. 
It wasn’t long before he was singing under his breath.  Castiel was so quiet
that he nearly forgot he was there, and he’d already made enough of a fool of
himself in front of him before that he honestly just didn’t care anymore. 
Drumming his fingers along with the beat, he bobbed his head, and like a little
dance as he smiled contentedly to himself.
When they were nearly there, he felt his stomach growl, and he glanced over to
the passenger side curiously.  “You hungry, Cas?”
Suddenly aware of the grumble in his stomach, Cas replied, “Yeah, actually.”
 He replied, craving something deep fried and smothered in grease, only just
registering the use of his nickname, and oddly warmed by it; he hadn’t been
called that by anyone (with the exception of Gabriel) for years.
“Okay, cool.”  He grinned, taking their exit, and slowing down to street
limits.  “Where do you wanna go?  I’m thinking cheap and easy-- we can eat when
we get to the park, sprawl out on the hood.  I know this great spot.”
“You seem like you do this often.”  Cas remarked, a small smile curling his
lips.  “Cheap is always good.”  He added, knowing his own purse wasn’t exactly
brimming with usable funds; bar ownership earned less than you'd expect, and
pick pocketing even less than that.
Dean hesitated.  Jaw flexing very briefly, he cleared his throat, and turned
into the parking lot of an In ‘n Out.  Pulling into a space, he killed the
engine and slumped back in his seat with words waiting on his tongue. 
Practically burning a hole in his mouth.
“I do.  Do this often, that is.”  He admitted, not moving to get out of the car
yet.  “Not with anyone else, not really.  Sammy-- my brother, sometimes, when I
can drag him away.  But mostly I just come up by myself.”
Because my mom took me there when I was little, and I like to go and think
about her there.
“Let’s, uh,” he wrenched his door open, moving to get out.  “Let’s get some
food?”
Taking the hint, Cas got out of the car, relieved for the fresh air and steady
land beneath his feet.  “Food’s good.”  He replied.
===============================================================================
 
Stretching out languidly over the hood of the Impala, Dean hummed his
contentment as the heat of the engine emitted up through the metal and soaked
into his skin.  Driving for any extended period of time always left him sort of
tight and wound up.  After a long moment of just relaxing, he sat up and
scrubbed his hands through his hair until it stood on end, sun filtering down
through the leaves in golden streaks. 
It was a beautiful spot.  Right on the edge of the lake, the water was still in
the later afternoon, refracting bits of sunshine perfectly.  The weather was
just warm enough to swim, but he wasn’t here for that today. 
“Taking your sweet time getting out of the car, Cas.”  He called softly over
his shoulder as the other guy stepped out of the vehicle.  “Better not be
eating all the fries.”
The lake was much nicer than Cas anticipated, less grimy water and more
yellowing leaves; in fact if the mood did strike him, he thought he may just go
swimming.  Stepping out of the car after a moment to admire the view, he took
up a place on the hood of Dean’s car, lounging out with near cat like ease. 
“And if I do?”  he asked, mostly joking as he unwrapped a burger.
“If you do--” he reached over, snatching up the bag that had their food in it
so that he could grab his own burger and and handful of fries.  “If you do,
I’ll just be forced to leave you here, stranded and alone.  And no one will
ever be the wiser.”
It was a legitimate threat, because no one would come get him, and Gabriel
wouldn’t worry all that much if he was gone for the night.  “You wouldn’t
dare.”  He said calmly, starting on his burger with a strange tenacity, humming
in satisfaction.
Dean chewed a few fries, kicking off his shoes with a familiar ease, and tucked
his legs up underneath him as they sat together; it was all so strangely
comfortable, like they’d been doing it for years.  “Don’t be so sure.  You have
no idea what I would and would not dare to do.”
The threat held absolutely no venom, and instead he smiled teasingly as he
munched on another fry.
“Shut up.”  Cas mumbled around a mouthful, not particularly worried about how
gross it was.  Lounging across the hood his Dean’s car, he let his head fall
back against the windshield.
Laughing, Dean started to unwrap his burger, but stopped in the middle of it
when their eyes met.  It was a warm look, still vaguely tentative, almost
questioning in the way they stared at one another, and it stirred something
within Dean that he didn’t think he’d ever felt before.  It wasn’t bad, but it
was strange and new.  An odd look came over his face, like dawning realization,
because there were words just hovering in his mouth and he felt for sure that
Castiel felt the same way. 
“Mamihlapinatapei.”  He stated, almost breathy, and he knew that it must just
sound like extremely fancy gibberish.
“Bless you.”  Cas grumbled, not looking up at him, licking what remained of
what appeared to be mustard off his finger tips.  After a moment, he realised
that that wasn’t a sneeze, looking up at him with a furrow between his brows,
Castiel tilted his head.  “Mami- what the fuck now?”
“Mamihlapinatapei,” Dean repeated, wry and faintly amused.  “It’s Yaghan.  A
form of Spanish from Tierra del Fuego.  It’s the wordless, yet meaningful look
between two people who both desire to initiate something but are both reluctant
to start.”  He held his hands out in grand gesture, grinning like he just
solved a puzzle.  “Mamihlapinatapei.”
Castiel gave a huff of surprise when Dean explained, though he couldn’t bring
himself to disagree.  It was oddly true, the more he thought about it; neither
party was willing to push too far, though both wanted to know more.
“Mamihlapinatapei...  Yeah, I guess that’s us.”  He said, offering a smile to
him as he turned his head, looking over at Dean with an oddly fond gaze.  Maybe
this is what having a friend was like, talking about weird shit, and eating
cheap food, because you haven’t got anything better to do, and yet, you
couldn’t think of something more entertaining if you tried.  “Where the hell
did you learn that anyway?  Pretty sure basic Spanish doesn’t cover words like
that.”
“Um...” he chuckled self-deprecatingly, almost not wanting to go into it, but
knowing that it was what both of them were waiting for.  For one of them to
take that leap of faith, to open up a little bit.  It made him feel vulnerable,
revealing the stupid little things that he did for entertainment-- the small
habits that he enjoyed doing.  Watching old films and TV shows, listening to
records, reading classic novels.  The small habits that he did to remind
himself of better times.  “I get bored.  My mom, she was a teacher back before
I was born, and there are all these books in my house filled with the strangest
shit.  There’s one that’s got a bunch of words from other languages that mean
really specific things we don’t have singular words for in English.”
Dean took a bite of his burger, pausing to chew for a moment before he
continued, gesturing up into the trees.  “Like that.  The name of the sunlight
that filters through the trees is called komorebi in Japanese.”
“Komorebi.”  Cas said, testing the word in his mouth, the feel, the texture,
the sound.  A smile curled his lips, strangely fond as he looked at Dean, “Got
any more?”  he asked, finishing his burger and stealing a chip from Dean with
no finesse whatsoever.  Cas decided he liked this feeling, the little details
revealed for no reason other than the enjoyment of sharing information.
Dean was stumped for a moment, and he had to sift through the little bits of
knowledge in his mind before he could think of another for him.  “Meraki.  It’s
Greek.  Basically means to do something with soul or-- or creativity, love.  To
put yourself completely into your work.”
“That I can identify with.”  Cas said, more quiet than he usually might, a
little tentative even if the information was a little vague. 
“Yeah?”  Dean asked, too curious for his own good, and there was a lapse in
conversation as he chewed down the last bite of his burger, continueing to idly
eat his fries.  “How so?  What do you do with meraki?  Or... what do you
meraki, however the goddamn tense of it works.”
Castiel hesitated for a moment, shifting a little awkwardly as he debated
whether to tell him or not.  “There are a few things I enjoy doing.  I uh.  I
take acting classes sometimes; I enjoy those.  Becoming another person, just
for a little while.  I suppose that counts as meraki.”  He said, avoiding his
gaze, just in case.
The admission was more then Dean had gotten out of him in the last three weeks,
and he accepted it with a grain of salt.  Taking a moment to look him over,
finding him almost self-conscious, he couldn’t help the smile that stretched
over his lips.  He was happy.  Happy that Castiel was opening up too, that the
thing that he felt, that potential for something more than just tutor-pupil,
wasn’t just something he recognized.  He was practically beaming.
“That’s cool,” he replied and found himself on the end of a disbelieving
stare.  “No, seriously.  That’s really cool that you’ve got something like
that.  Is that what you want to do?  Act?”
Cas looked up at him, hopeful at first, slowly growing more and more
defensive.  He didn’t like being laughed at, and he never shared information
for that reason.  But the look on Dean’s face didn’t seem teasing-- it was
genuine.
“You think so?” he asked, unusually unsure for someone so confident. 
Expression softening, he looked at Dean carefully, a small smile curling his
lips at the sight of the others beaming grin.  He decided then that Dean’s
smile was something he’d have to see more often.  “I want to act.  I want to
make people laugh, and cry, and shout.  My father, however, has other plans.”
“Ouch,” Dean winced sympathetically.  “Gotta hate controlling parents.  That’s
gotta suck, keeping something you’re passionate about underwraps.  I mean, I’m
assuming here, but he doesn’t know, right?”
“I haven’t spoken to my father and a large portion of my family for nearly
three years.”  Cas said flatly, no regret in his tone, not missing the majority
of them, though sometimes he wished he could see how his younger brother was
growing up.  “So, no.  He doesn’t know about my plans, but he would
disapprove.  He expects all of us to take our places in the family business.”
“Well, that sounds...”  Dean was at a loss for words for a moment, and he
couldn’t believe that Castiel was being so candid with him about this.  It was
like a dam had broke, and suddenly there they were, opening up to one another
like they’d been friends the entire time.  A look of disbelief crossed his
face, but he couldn’t help the awkward laugh that bubbled up past his lips. 
“Fuck, Cas, that sounds awful.  The whole not-talking bit and the whole high-
expectations.  I mean, it just sounds all around suck-tastic.”
“I don’t miss them.”  Cas said evenly, though part of him knew it was a lie. 
He missed Samandiriel, and he missed Balthazar. 
And Anna.  He missed her most.
Dean frowned, tilting his head, brow furrowing slightly.  “Not even a little?”
It was a hard concept to grasp.  Even though Dean’s own father was a drunken
ass, he still missed him.  Missed the man he used to be.  Missed his moments of
clarity, those times he actually sobered up, especially when he was so drunk he
couldn’t put himself to bed, couldn’t shower on his own, couldn’t do anything. 
And he missed his mom, everyday, every moment.  And he knew for a fact that he
would miss Sam if they were ever apart.
Castiel hesitated for a moment, unsure if he quite trusted Dean that much;
three weeks isn't long to get to know somebody, to learn to trust them.  “I
uh...  Sometimes, yes.  I miss my younger brother, and Balthazar.  We were very
close once, the three of us.”  He admitted, refusing his gaze, cursing his own
stupid emotions for clamming up his throat as he thought of her, of red hair
and an affectionate smile.  “And my sister.  Anna.  I miss her.”
He wanted to reach out and offer comfort.  Sooth whatever hurt Castiel wasn’t
talking about.  But he wasn’t sure if it would be welcomed or wanted, so he
resigned himself to giving him an empathetic look.  “I’m sure it’s hard.  Being
without people you care about.  I’m sorry you have to feel that.”
Cas gave a noncommittal shrug, in no mood to really elaborate.  “I cope.”  He
replied as blankly as possible as he beat back the lump in his throat.  “That’s
what we do, right?  We pick ourselves up and soldier on.”  He added, parroting
the exact words of ‘comfort’ his eldest brother had offered. 
“Those don’t sound like your words,” he said before he could stop himself,
noting the bitter inflection with ease.  He’d heard Meg mimic her father like
that-- the abusive ass-- and he’d even done the same thing once or twice with
things John had said.  “And that certainly doesn’t sound like not talking to
your family by choice.  That sounds like losing someone.”
Dean had heard similar words before.  Carrying on after loss.  He’d had to try
and do it before.  To be honest, he was still trying.
“And, if that’s the case, it’s a stupid way to do it.”  He stated, not pressing
to see if he was right, not wanting to scare him off already.  “You don’t
soldier on when you lose someone.  You grieve.  You remember.  Trust me, I
know.”
Cas gave a bitter little snort of of laugh, oddly hollow as he looked over at
him, shaking his head.  “We did grieve.  And then we moved on.  We don’t talk
about it.”  He said, voice breaking a little as memories resurfaced he tried so
desperately to repress.  Her smile, and the way her hair stuck up at all angles
when she woke up.  “We don’t even say her name anymore.  Not to each other.”
A solemn expression fell over his face. 
“If you want-- If you would ever like to, you can talk about her to me.”  Dean
said, keeping eye contact so that he knew it was an honest offer.  “If you ever
want to, I’ll listen.  Because, I mean, I get it.  Losing someone.”
He wavered for a second, looking at Dean carefully, as though expecting to see
some kind of ulterior motive written all over his face.  He remained in silence
for a moment, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket restlessly.  “I have a big
family.  There are ten of us.  My father never was around much, and my mother
died of labour complications a few weeks after giving birth to my younger
brother; I was one at the time.  We raised each other-- Michael and Luc are the
eldest; they oversaw all of us, kept us in school, out of most of the trouble. 
But there were so many of us, that sometimes you just got ignored, they didn’t
have the time to see you, or had better things to do. 
“We didn’t even notice that something was wrong with Anna; Raphael said it was
just hormones, and Michael didn’t argue.  So we went about our business.  I
started high school, and Anna was going to college.  We didn’t even notice and
she never said anything-- she just didn’t want to do it anymore I suppose. 
Swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills and just didn’t get up again.”
Dean thought of saying sorry.  Thought he should apologize, offer up sympathy
for him.  But he knew what that was like.  The anger he felt whenever anyone
looked at him with big eyes, placed a companionable hand on his shoulder as
they tried to sooth pains they didn’t understand, that they
couldn’tunderstand.  He figured that Castiel wouldn’t appreciate it anymore
then Dean did.
So instead, he just accepted it with a compassionate look on his face.  “And
that’s when you stopped talking to them?”
“Gabriel was away when it happened, called back from Europe.  I don’t think
I’ve ever seen him that mad before.  Blame was laid, punches were thrown,
Michael told him to leave, so he did, and I went with him.  Put on a civil
front for the funeral, and we haven’t spoken to most of my family since.”  He
said, feeling somewhat relieved to get it off his chest.
“And you can’t just... talk to some of them, but not others?”  Dean knew about
Castiel living with his brother.  It was one of those things that people talked
about, chattered about incessantly, and so he wasn’t exceptionally surprised by
that information.  “Isn’t there a way to do that?”
Cas gave a soft snort, shaking his head.  “You haven’t met my brothers.”  He
said, “They wouldn’t take us back now.”
“They shouldn’t be the ones taking anyone back,” Dean muttered.  “You should. 
They hurt you, not the other way around.”
Cas hesitated for a moment, thinking it over.  “Maybe one day.”  He replied,
shifting a little.  “Y’know, I’ve never told anyone about that.”
Dean’s eyes widened at the admission.  It was minute, but there, his shock. 
And the warm rush that came with knowing Castiel had placed a trust in him that
he hadn’t in anyone else.  Quite a bit like satisfaction, and even more like
unbridled affection.  Finding the situation unbelievably heavy, he felt the
need to ease it somehow, before the tables turned and he found himself telling
the other man all of his own personal sob stories.  He saw the shock, but made
no effort to comment, instead offering a friendly smile that sat a little
awkwardly on his lips, but shone brightly in his eyes.
“Guess that makes me your new best friend,” he jibed playfully and then nudged
his fries over to him.  “You want the rest of those?  I’m not going to eat
them.”
Not being the type to pass up food, he nodded, snagging the fries and polishing
them off, just enough grease to keep them interesting.  “I suppose so.”  He
said, an unfamiliar warmth in his chest, unlike anything he’d ever felt.
A silence fell between them, and for the first time since they’d met it was
comfortable.  Like something had settled between them, something that had been
there the entire time, trying to catch their attention, and now that they had
accepted it, it was calm.  It felt good.  Humming, he unfolded his legs and
shifted, laying out on the hood with his head resting back against the
windshield. 
A slow smile curled on his lips as sunlight streamed down from between leaves
in the trees.  Komorebi.
 
Chapter End Notes
     Chapter 3 Title Song: "Blue Sky" by The Allman Brothers Band
     Songs played on the drive:
     "Traveling Riverside Blues" by Led Zeppelin
     "Up And Around the Bend" by Creedence Clearwater Revival
***** To Tell the Difference Between Shooting Stars and Satellites *****
Chapter Notes
     WARNING: Brief depiction of child abuse and mention of child abuse.
 
It was relatively busy for a Friday, low music providing some kind of guidance
for the dancers littering the floor in a sequence of thoroughly inebriated to
almost sober.  Castiel let out a low sigh from his place perched on a barstool,
back to the crowds as he counted his night's takings.  A gold ring from a
womans hand, a hundred dollars worth of scattered notes and a tie pin.  Not his
best work, but enough to get a little leverage over rising bills.  
Deciding to call it a night, Cas hailed Sigrun to pour him a drink, nodding his
thanks as she left to serve the rest of tonight's crowd.  With a soft huff, he
rested his jaw on an open palm, an odd smile curling his lips as he recalled
his week, full of now half-tolerable school and-- would you believe it-- a
friend.  For the first time in his life, Castiel had a real friend that wasn't
one of his brothers, the kind he could talk to, and laugh with, and jibe at
without being called an asshole.  The kind of person that filled out his sadly
lacking contacts list, and showed to him the wonders of the emoticon.
It was a heady sensation, the kind that he’d never expected to feel.  Oddly
warm, but at the same time wary, letting in a relative stranger like that,
leaving yourself vulnerable to potential hurt.  Falling and hoping to dear god
that they can catch you.
A decidedly goofy looking smile spread on his lips, thinking of striking green
eyes and a smile that could light up the darkest of corners.
The Shifter was no stranger to rowdy customers, occasionally getting them
escorted out, but tonight was especially bad, already watching as a scuffle was
broken up, both parties leaving, nursing drunken egos.  He flicked his gaze
over to the older man who frankly looked like he’d just crawled out of a
whiskey bottle from a year holed up in there.  What was probably a dark head of
hair peppered with grey, hung over the polished wood of the bar, cradling a
glass like a newborn child.  The occasional slur he made was ignored by the bar
staff, Kali giving him a scathing look when he grunted something unsavory her
way, and she mumbled to Gabriel about keeping an eye on that one, recognising
his face from a few times before, getting so unbelievably wasted they almost
called the paramedics.
Before long, his rambling grew in intensity, spitting out mumbles to anyone who
came close enough to scent the reek of old booze, curses, and half garbled
stories of a blonde woman who’d left him all alone.  Taking some kind of pity
on him, Kali poured him another round, more in hopes he’d pass out than in
efforts to sooth what seemed to be a broken man.
A few rounds later, Kali looked down at his slightly sagging form, taking his
glass away from a limp grip.
“I think that’s enough for you tonight, sir.”  She said simply, expecting the
usual backlash from such protocols.
His response was a loud thud of a hand against wood, glaring up at her as he
took his glass back.
“Sir.  It’s time for you to leave.  We can call a taxi if you so wish.”  She
said coolly, casting a glance back to Gabriel as he watched on.  
Looking groggily up at her as he tried to stand upright, stumbling a little as
he stepped away from the bar, spitting insults to the thoroughly jaded Kali.
“Never liked this place anyway, fridged fuckin' waitress telling me when I’ve
had enough.”  He slurred, managing to head for the exit in a poor attempt at
walking, letting his glass drop with an intentional smash against a stone
floor.
Gabriel let out a long suffering sigh, knowing there was no way this guy would
get home, and if his previous track record was anything to go by, he’d probably
stumble back in soon enough.  With sadly familiar motions, he dialed the local
police station, motioning for Cas to get out of there just in case.
“Miss Mills.  Yeah, me again.  We have a certain Winchester problem...  Yeah, I
know.  Yeah, I get that, but I’m not refusing patrons who haven’t started
anything too major.  The more the merrier.  Just come get the sorry son of a
bitch before he drowns in his own vomit.”
===============================================================================
 
“What?”
Dean was elbow deep in soapy water, phone pinned between his ear and his
shoulder, that endearing wrinkle between his eyebrows as he listened to Charlie
babble on the other line.  It had been a good week, if not a long one.  There
had been a lot of work for him to catch up on because he’d wanted his essay out
of the way for the weekend, and he’d ended up asking Castiel to go over it for
him, which had turned into inviting him to lunch.  Which turned into another
lunch.  Which turned into exchanging numbers-- though neither of them had
called one another, they had sent a few sporadic texts.  It was sort of crazy
how easily they got along, how easily they could joke with one another, though
it seemed like they were always so tentative with one another before one or the
other would break the ice somehow.
He had planned to spend his Friday night unwinding over at Charlie’s house with
some fresh brownies and a long round of playing Borderlands.  Unfortunately,
Sam’s plans to go over to a friend’s place that night had fallen through, which
meant Dean was on babysitting duty.  It wasn’t like he could expect John to be
there, after all.
“Charlie, breathe.”  He chuckled, pulling the ceramic pan out of the sink to
rest it on the edge, pausing to fish around the water for his sponge.  Dean had
made lasagna for the both of them-- the leftovers, though there weren’t much
because of growing boys and all that, had been placed in the fridge for later-
- and the only problem with that was the soaking and scrubbing that always came
afterbaking lasagna.  “I don’t know why you’re coming to me with your girly
problems.  You’re dating her, not me.”
‘Dean Winchester, I am coming to you in my time of need, and you’re mocking
me.’  Dean grinned wryly, knowing for a fact that she was probably pouting,
hiding in Meg’s bathroom as she stressed out about the older woman’s not-so-
subtle advances.  ‘I’m freaking out here.’
Rolling his eyes, he leaned heavily against the edge of the sink, idly cleaning
the dish in his hands.  “Well, stop.  You know she won’t push if you don’t want
her to.”
‘... Yeah.’
“But you want her to,” understanding dawned, and he smiled fondly.  “That’s so
precious, Charlie.”
‘Shut up, you prick.’  She replied, flustered but bemused.
He didn’t bother to hide his laughter.
‘On a less sexually awkward note, what are you wearing?’  Charlie asked,
falling back into their usual playful banter.  ‘Wait, sorry.  I meant to ask
what are you doing?’
“If you really must know, I’m doing the dishes.  Thrilling stuff.”  He admitted
sarcastically.
She barked out a laugh at him.  ‘At one in the morning?  Yeah, I’d say that’s a
nail-biter.’
“Shit,” Dean sighed, letting the pan sink back under the water, flicking his
hands as he attempted to shake them dry before he gave up and palmed them
against his jeans as he moved from the kitchen.  “Is it seriously that late?”
‘Yeah, dude.  Why?’
“Sam’s still up, and you know what a grouch he is when he stays up too late.
 I’m gonna send him to bed-- call me back in ten?”  He didn’t wait for her
answer before he was hanging up, not needing to hear yet another cajole for
being a mother hen.
The living room was dark when he walked in, all of the lights out.  Sam was
curled up on the couch, eyes wide as he watched the TV, jaw faintly slack.
 Dean paused for a moment in the entryway, leaning against the door jam to
watch him, a soft smile on his lips.  He was watching an old black and white
film, one of Dean’s, The Night of the Living Dead.  He knew for a fact that
Sammy was usually a pansy when it came to horror films, which meant he was
probably going to end up crawling into Dean’s room in the middle of the night,
scared out of his mind.  Eighth grade or not, Sam always came to Dean when he
was scared.
“Hey, short stack.”  Dean bit back a grin when his brother jumped, turning to
look at him in a mix of fright and abashedness.  “Come on.  Time to hit the
hay.”
“But Dean--”
“No way.  I am not putting up with your grumpy ass in the morning.  Go to bed.”
 
“But I’m in the middle of a movie--”
“That’s just going to end up keeping you up all night.  Go.  To bed.”
Sam huffed out a sound, frustrated and petulant, as he stood from the couch
still wrapped up in a blanket.  “You suck sometimes.”
“You love me anyways--” The phone rang, cutting him off, and he hit the talk
button and held it to his ear without looking at the caller I.D.  “Charlie, I
thought I said ten minutes, not ten seconds.”
‘Dean?’
His features instantly stilled, and Sam’s screwed up in concern as he flipped
on the light.  “Sheriff Mills?”
‘Dean, honey, I need you to get down to The Shape Shifter.  It’s your dad.’  He
grimaced at her words, knowing that meant John was wasted.  Again.  And that
apparently it was so bad the police got called.
“How bad is it?”
Sam drew close, looking up at him in question.  “Dean, what is it?  What
happened?  Is dad okay?”
He held up a hand, silencing his brother with the gesture as he turned away to
listen through the receiver.  ‘He’s just making a bit of a scene.  Too drunk to
find his way home.  If I have to pick him up again, I have to write it up, and
you know I’ll have to call social services--’
“Don’t worry, I’ll pick him up.”  Dean assured her.  “The Shifter, right?  Off
of Florence Ave?”
He barely waited for her to confirm the address before he was hanging up his
phone and turning back to Sam.  Gripping both of his shoulders, he looked down
at him voice strained slightly with the fear and panic that had spiked in him.
 Far too stressed out for his own good, with weight on his shoulders that he
shouldn’t be burdening.  
“Dean, what is going on--?”
“I have to go get dad-- He’s fine.  Don’t worry.”  Dean said, pushing aside his
own worries to sooth Sam’s.  “I’m gonna go bring him home, but I need you to go
upstairs and try to go to bed, okay?  Take the phone with you, Charlie’s gonna
call in a couple of minutes, tell her there was an emergency and that I’ll get
back to her.  Can you do that for me?”
Sam frowned, looking none too pleased by any of this.  “Yeah.”
“Thank you,” Dean smiled weakly, ruffling his hair before he kissed his
forehead.  “I’ll be back soon, I promise.  Lock the door behind me.”
Grabbing his keys, Dean slung his leather jacket on and headed out the door.
===============================================================================
 
Getting by the bouncer had been a hassle.  He’d had to leave his wallet with
the guy-- big, burly, and way too serious-- in order to even get in.  No money
and no I.D. to try and purchase any alcohol with.  Dean understood why it was
such an issue, but he was in a rush.  John hadn’t been outside, which meant he
must’ve been somewhere inside.  Which meant he could still potentially be
causing all kinds of trouble.  The second he was in, he headed straight for the
bar, appearing every bit as flustered and worried as he felt.
He spotted John almost immediately.  Slurring and swaying on his feet, but
still exuding a hapless kind of menace as he loomed over another man who looked
like he was trying to talk him down.  The man held his hands up, as if showing
John he wasn’t a threat, and appeared rather unimpressed by the bout of curses
rolling out of the ex-marine’s mouth.  He could see his father beginning to
bristle, and he sped up, getting to his side as John’s hands curled into tight
fists.  If he got into a tussle and someone pressed charges, Dean wouldn’t be
able to avoid the police or social services, and he couldn’t lose Sam.
“Dad, come on.”  He gripped lightly at his father’s wrist, and John blinked
blearily at him, as if not recognizing him for a moment.  “Come on, let’s get
you home.”
“Dean-o?”  John stumbled slightly, and Dean braced him with practiced ease.
 “Dean, what’re you doin’ here?”
“I came to get you.  Come on, let’s go.”  He tugged urgently, turning to give
the shorter man an apologetic look.  “I’m sorry if he’s caused any trouble.
 I’ll get him out of here.  It won’t happen again.”
Gabriel’s stance didn’t waver even as John was lead away, though there was the
faintest trace of sympathy threaded through his eyes, knowing all too well what
it was like to have a deadbeat of a dad.  Castiel had since returned from
lingering outside when he heard no sirens, and was giving no indication of a
police presence.  His brow abruptly furrowed when he spotted Dean guiding who
Cas could only assume was his drunken father out of the bar.  A bubble of
something strangely possessive curled tight in his gut.
He followed at a relatively respectful distance, having seen the man get
violent before when intoxicated.  Lingering at the door Cas simply watched on,
making no attempt to communicate.
It wasn’t until they’d gotten outside, Dean retrieving his wallet from the
bouncer on their way through the exit, that John started to struggle.  He
pulled his wrist from his son’s grasp, glaring at him with dazed eyes.  Dean’s
jaw flexed with irritation, knowing exactly what was about to happen-- he’d
been through it before, and he would no doubt go through it again.  Stumbling
back a few steps, John pointed his finger at him, squinting through narrowed
eyes as Dean licked his lips in agitation and turned to face him.
“I can take care’a myself, Dean.  Don’t need you takin’ me home like Imma
child.”  He stated; Dean had heard this all before, but honestly couldn’t help
but look at his own father like he was a toddler who could barely walk.  
“Dad, just come with me and get in the car.  I have to take you home.”  His
voice was low, soft, coaxing and reasonable.  He’d tried challenging him
before, and it usually got him smacked.  “Sam’s worried and you’re drunk.  Just
let me take you home.”
John’s eyebrows drew together in concentration, as if he was trying to grasp
what his son was saying to him, and he hesitantly lowered his hand.  “... I can
take care’a myself, Dean.”
“Dad, c’mon, just come with me--”  Dean drew close and instantly regretted it,
having to dodge a fumbling strike that John through blindly.  It easily missed
him, and he was quick to catch his dad’s wrists, to try and still him before he
did anything regretful.  “Dad, stop.”
“Get yer hands offa me, Dean!”  He growled, tugging from his grip again, and
bringing the back of his hand across Dean’s jaw.  Dean's eyes fall shut and he
tasted the smallest bit of blood in his mouth, knowing his cheek was going to
be tender for the next few days, and grateful it was the weekend.  John
stumbled, barely standing on his own, and glowered at him in warning.  “I’m yer
goddamn father.  You don’t boss me around.  Now, ‘m gonna go back in a get
myself ‘nother drink--”
The blow stung, but he couldn’t let John go back in.  Not when the cops had
already been called once.  Not when their situation was so extraordinarily
precarious with the county.  As John tried to walk away, his knees buckled, and
Dean moved in to hold him up, grunting as he took the brunt of his weight on.
 John reeked, and he slumped against him with a groan, Dean struggling to keep
the both of them upright.
Castiel rose from his place rested against the doorframe, a grimace on his lips
as he drew closer to them, looking to bar the older man's way or to perhaps
provide some kind of assitance to Dean.  His jaw flexed, wanting nothing more
than to punch Dean's father for laying a hand on him, but he knew better than
to interveen uninvited.  A very muffled alarm went off in the back of his head,
triggered by his sudden urge to protect Dean, but it was quickly silenced as
John tried to push away from Dean and back over to the entrance of the club.
“Sir, you cannot come back in here.”  He said, tone boding no argument despite
his clear disadvantage.
A horror-stricken expression fell over Dean’s features; he’d recognize that
baritone anywhere, and he glanced over to see Castiel standing there, something
raw and terrifying tightening in his gut.  It was a lot like shame.
“Who the hell do you think you are, tellin’ me what I can and-- and cannot do.
 I have a right--”  John cut himself off, groaning again and keeling over,
supported only by Dean as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the
gutter.  
Dean, however, was too busy being startled to worry too much about his father
throwing up.  He made sure to help lower him onto his knees, movements steady
and familiar, and he rubbed idly at his back as John heaved-- but his eyes
never left Castiel’s.  He was at a loss for words for a moment, face pale as he
stared at him.
“Cas,” he started, voice cracking.  “What’re you--” he cleared his throat,
wanting to look away, but finding himself unable to.  “What are you doing
here?”
Mildly repulsed as the drunk began heaving into the gutter, Cas gave a stiff
shrug.  He watched John carefully, guard still raised, completely unfazed by
his threats; though he was thankful that he was incapacitated enough not to be
too much of a threat.
“I told you.  I work here sometimes.”  He explained, looking at Dean for a
moment, something like sympathy in his eyes.  “Are you okay?”  He asked,
gesturing to his cheek, gaze softening as he saw a faint mark.
“A bar.  You work at a bar.  This bar?”  Dean recalled the conversation, but
couldn’t remember specifics, mind too frazzled.  He remembered Castiel telling
him that he worked at his brother’s bar from time to time, and it was just his
luck that it was the one his father chose to get disgustingly drunk at.
 Wincing at the pity in his gaze, he finally looked away, focusing on the way
John’s body arched with each heave, thankfully dry, and the way his head was
hanging between his shoulders.  He was gonna pass out soon.  Good for his face,
bad for the rest of him-- John was heavy.  Carefully avoiding Castiel’s
question, he looked back up at him with a mix of hope and embarrassment.  “Do
you think you could-- Um... Could you help me?  When he’s done, do you think
you could help me?  I need to get him to the car.”
The look he shot John was borderline murderous, schooling his features to nod
evenly at Dean.  “For you.  Yes.”  He replied, moving from the doorway to stand
next to him.  “And you didn’t answer my question.  Are you okay?”
Dean thanked god that it seemed like things were slowing down for the night and
there weren’t a million and five people outside of The Shifter like there could
have been.  Luckily most people didn’t give too much thought into someone
drinking themselves sick, and didn’t bother giving him or John a second look
even as Castiel moved to stand next to him.  Pulling himself to his feet, he
shrugged, finding himself with another man in his personal space and he
resisted the urge to step back.
“I’m fine.”
Castiel gave him a disbelieving look, following his movement to stand up,
unfazed by the proximity.  He wanted to call Dean on his bullshit, because he
was not fine, he was just hit by his own father.  But he knew that it wouldn’t
make anything easier, making a mental note to bring it up the next they met.
“Of course you are.”
His teeth grit together, and he mentally cursed himself for it when his jaw
flared faintly.  “I’m fine, okay?”
Rolling his eyes, Castiel shrugged, knowing he wouldn’t do any good pushing the
matter. “I'm sure you are.”
“Listen, I--”
“Dean?”  He was cut off by his father, hapless and helpless, swaying on all
fours and sounding every bit as wrecked as he looked.  Letting out a small
sound, Dean knelt back down, slinging John’s arm over his shoulder just before
he could topple over.  His own arm went around John’s waist and he tugged,
straining slightly as he stumbled to bring them both to their feet.  
Castiel was much stronger than he looked, taking John’s other arm with a look
of barely contained disgust, supporting the drunk at Dean’s request. Huffing
softly, he took as much weight as was offered to him, half expecting some kind
of repercussion from John.
John physically couldn’t do much, stumbling and weighing against the both of
them, and he blinked blearily over at Castiel.  “Who the fuck’re you?”  He
didn’t wait for an answer before he was letting his head lull, glancing Dean’s
way.  “Who the fuck’s he?”
“He’s a friend, dad.  He’s helping me.”  Dean sighed, knowing John wouldn’t
remember it in the morning.
John looked like he wanted to protest for a moment, but found his own tongue
even failing him as he sagged even more.  Grunting, Dean shifted under his arm,
pressing tighter to hold him up better.  Tilting his head to look at Castiel
over the top of his dad’s head, he gestured weakly to his left.  
“The Impala is this way,” he supplied, moving to guide them all down the
sidewalk, heading towards his car.  He had parked as close as possible, knowing
he would have to get his dad from Point A to Point B, and he hadn’t wanted it
to be a massive physical strain-- or, not more than it already was.
They made it there in no time, John too drunk to do much else than allow
himself to be pull along.  There was an awkward shuffle as Dean tried to get
the door open while still supporting his father, and he let out a sigh of
relief when he finally managed it.  Making sure to fold him into the passenger
seat, he leaned in and buckled his belt, smacking a paper bag against his chest
and murmuring instructions not to spill his guts in the car before he pulled
back and slammed the door shut.  He paused for a moment, feeling a deep sense
of dread fill him, and he hesitated before he turned around, expression a mix
of shame and gratitude.
“Thank you,” he said, crossing his arms self-consciously.
Dusting his leather jacket clean of nonexistent grime from where John had been
resting, Castiel waited until Dean had shut the car door, nodding slightly.
 “Not a problem.”  He replied, already beginning to withdraw from the parking
lot to avoid what would have been an awkward conversation.  
“I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Yeah,” Dean replied weakly, “see you Monday.”
===============================================================================
 
Dean had been dreading Monday all weekend.  He’d been dreading the tutoring
that came after class even more.  He had felt the strongest sense of abience;
avoiding seeing him being the only thing on his mind as he went through his
day.  He didn’t want to have the conversation that he knew was inevitable.  So
much so that he’d been tempted to text Castiel and tell him that he couldn’t
make it.  That he would have to reschedule.  He’d been so tempted to, in fact,
that when he’d gotten to the library and saw that Cas wasn’t there yet, he’d
turned to walk back out, nearly running right into the older teen.  
They’d been sitting awkwardly at their usual table ever since, Dean focusing
intently on the textbook in front of him, and Castiel seeming to focus intently
on Dean.  It sort of made his skin itch.
Castiel let out a long sigh as the heavy silence hung over them, looking
pointedly at Dean as he did his work, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited
for Dean to offer some kind of explanation.  When nothing happened, he leant
forward, pulling his book away to garner his attentions.
“Alright.  Talk to me.”
Dean reached out, grasping the edge of his text as he attempted to pull it back
to himself-- almost like a safety blanket-- and he refused to meet his gaze.
 “What’s there to talk about?”
“You know what,” he snapped, keeping a grip on the book.  “Is he always that
way?”
Rolling his eyes, Dean huffed and sat back in his chair.  “No.  No, he isn’t
always that way.  Drunk a lot?  Yes.  Sometimes violent?  Yes.  It’s not often,
and it really isn’t an issue.  Don’t worry about it, okay?”
“I’m worrying.”  Cas replied, expression softening somewhat.  He didn’t like
seeing Dean get hurt, a foreign feeling that seemed to feel right as it settled
its weight in his gut.  
“Well, don’t.”  He said solemnly, scrubbing a hand over his face.  “There’s
nothing to worry about.  I’m fine.  I’m always fine.”
Cas let out a huff, disbelieving in Dean’s words.  “If you say so.”  He sighed,
letting his text book go.  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”  He asked, voice
softening in concern.
“Aside from smacking me around outside the bar?”  Dean asked, far too dry and
unconcerned considering the topic, considering the very faint bruise that was
still on his jaw.  “No.  He was out before we even got home.  It was hell
trying to get him in the house.”
He hesitated, not wanting to talk about any of this.  But there was something
eating at the back of his mind, a little knot of panic in his chest, making it
feel like it was hard to breathe.  Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the
table, holding Castiel’s gaze with something nearing desperation as he lowered
his voice in what was pure paranoia.
“You haven’t talked to anyone about it, have you?”
Castiel shook his head, brow furrowing at Dean’s paranoia.  Any of the demand
in his gaze softened off to nothing but concern, seeing all of his fear.  “No.
 I didn’t say anything.  I don’t really have anyone to talk to besides you.”
“Well, that’s...”  Dean sighed, glancing down at his hands, feeling a flare of
affection in himself at Castiel’s words.  It was sad, but it left a sensation
of warmth running through him.  “I wasn’t really talking about friend-wise.  I
meant, like, anyone.  Your brother, a teacher, a school counselor.  You
haven’t, right?”
“Your affairs are none of Gabriel’s business, I despise most of my teachers,
and I don’t do counselor meetings, despite my apparent need.”  He replied,
trying to assure him of his safety.  “If you don’t want anyone to know, I
understand.”
“It’s not that I don’t want anyone to know-- I mean, yeah.  It’s embarrassing
as hell, mortifying really.  But it’s not about me, okay?”  He finally looked
back up, trying to get him to understand.  “If anyone finds out about that?
 About how he... getssometimes?  They’ll say he’s unfit to be a father, and
they’ll take my brother away.”
Castiel frowned at the idea.  He may not have been all that close with his
family, but he could relate to having them taken away.  “Wait....  What about
your mother?  You must have one.”  He asked, struck with the sudden
realization. There was no way for Sam to be taken away if another, capable
parent was present.  And there was no way Dean could keep the entire household
going, and almost pass his classes, and play sports.  Certainly his mother must
be present in some way.
Dean's expression shuttered, and he inhaled sharply at the mention of Mary.
 Giving him a sad look, he shook his head, subtle and small.  Just like he
felt.
“I told you I know what it’s like to lose someone,” he said, voice rough.  
Cas didn’t know what to say.  He didn’t know how to word any kind of apology,
or offer up any kind of sympathy.  Though he knew from experience how hard it
was to take someone else’s apology because they couldn’t possibly understand,
even if they’ve been there, what it was like.  What was missing.  His frown
quickly tugged into a sad little smile, reaching out to press one of his hands
over Dean’s.  “I won’t tell anybody.  I promise.”
Swallowing thickly, his hand twitched faintly underneath Castiel’s, and he
nodded as he tried to return the smile.  “Thank you.”
After a while, he pulled his hand back, nodding slowly as he pushed Dean’s book
towards him.  “Come on. I think that’s enough for today.”  He said, wanting to
draw his attention away from the current conversation.
Wryly, a brow curved up and Dean grinned lopsidedly, tone glib.  “You sayin’
there’s gonna be more talk like this on another day?  Should I buy us each a
pint of ice cream so we can cry together afterwards?”
“I didn’t pin you as the tearful type, but if you think ice cream is needed, go
ahead.”  Cas retorted, leaning back in his chair.
Laughing faintly, he shook his head, looking down at his textbook before he
glanced back up through his lashes with bemusement.  “It’s really just an
excuse to eat an entire pint of Phish Food while watching Casablanca, but if
you’re not interested, I’m sure I can just inflict it on Sam again.”
“I like that movie.”  He said, a little absent as he was distracted by the way
Dean looked up at him; he had the greenest eyes Cas had ever seen, almost
unreal.  “And I’m never adverse to ice cream.”
“Ben and Jerry are my go-to ménage à trois.”  He grinned, tapping his pen
against his book idly.  “And we’ll have to do that sometime.  Could make a
marathon out of it-- maybe I could inflict some of those crap TV shows I love
so much onto you.  Get you addicted like a proper teenager.”
“I suppose if you can find a third participant, a ménage à trois would be
possible.”  Cas teased, smiling that smug little grin.  “If you're into that
kinda thing.”
Unfazed, Dean tilted his head, comfortably falling back into this territory
they always seemed to end up in.  “Are you?”
“Depends on the other participants.”  He replied, not untruthful, though he
struggled to see himself being the type the share-the-love, so the speak.
“Really?”  He hummed, letting his eyes flicker over him unabashedly, trying to
push at his buttons.  “Interesting.  Any other kinky secrets you’re looking to
divulge?”
“Depends.”  Cas returned, knowing his was being pushed at, simply pushing back.
 “An eye for an eye.  I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“What is this, quid pro quo, Dr. Lecter?”  Dean hesitated for a moment before
he snapped his book shut and leaned back forward, pushing it aside to better
give him his attention.  To better rise to the challenge.  “Wait, let me guess.
 Leather, whips, and chains-- oh, my!”
“Depends on the partner.  I wouldn’t push them, but I wouldn't exactly say no
if they offered.”  He said, voice dropping a little as he lent in, completely
unashamed about the information.  “But you.  Now, I bet you like to be pushed
around.”
Dean hadn’t expected the sudden drop in his stomach, the sudden coil of want.
 He had to suppress a shudder, but he couldn’t control the way his pupils
dilated, darkening his eyes slightly as he regarded him.  It honestly wasn’t
fair, the way Castiel’s voice sounded like raw sex.  Dean wasn’t shy when it
came to sexuality-- it was fluid and filled with shades of grey-- and he
certainly wasn’t ashamed of his own interests.  But he’d never expected to feel
this kind of giddy desire for Castiel or that Castiel would ever be interested
back; he’d never thought there would be anything beyond mild interest-- and a
healthy dose of private sexual attraction.
And yet, there he was, feeling it stir in him like some kind of hunger.  “Seems
like you have to depend on a lot of circumstances.  You saying you’d enjoy
doing the pushing?”
Cas smirked at him, skillfully covering the thrill that went through him, the
flop of his stomach that definitely didn’t have anything to do with the taco he
ate earlier, a strange flutter the likes of which he’d never felt before.  “It
depends who I’m pushing.  I think I’d like pushing you-- the way your lips
would part like they do when you’re thinking.  I bet you’d make the best
sounds.”
Dean's breath caught for a moment, hitching faintly and softly, almost non-
existent.  His heart stammered, and he couldn’t stop the small shiver that ran
up his spine.  He felt both hot and cold, desire making his toes curl, and he
offered up a disbelieving smile even as his pupils blew out wide at the thought
of Castiel coaxing any kind of sound out of him.  He bet he could.  Bet he’d be
good at it.  He had fantastic hands.
“I’m sure,” he replied sarcastically; even if Dean did want him, even if Cas
was a tempting offer, he couldn’t imagine the other man would ever actually
want to do anything withDean or toDean.  “I think you just like teasing-- no
follow through.  You’d make ‘em squirm, and then walk away.”
The chuckle he gave was smooth and rich, noting the hitch in Dean’s breathing,
small as it was, and the dilating of his pupils.  It was a very tempting
thought, and he’d always wondered if Dean was as appealing under all that
clothing as he was with it.  “How did you guess?  Am I that transparent?”
“Yep.  I can read you like a book,” he said with a cheeky little smile, both of
them knowing how untrue that was.  But the idea of squirming for him left a
dull ache resounding through Dean.  “You really should work on that.”
“Is that so?”  Cas asked, enjoying the cheeky little grin on Dean’s face, heart
rate increasing at the sight of it, lips parting ever so slightly.  They were
close enough, all he had to do was lean in that little bit more, and he’d be
able to find out if those lips really felt as good a they looked.  Snapping out
of it, Castiel shook his head a little, smirk fading as he pulled back.  Dean
was his friend. And friends did not think about kissing other friends.  “I’ll
do that.”  He said, tone guarded once more.
There was a strange transition, almost stilted, and Dean felt like Castiel was
withdrawing from the conversation.  Probably a good thing, too, considering how
close they’d been.  How close Dean had been to removing that space between them
to press his lips to Castiel’s.  Searching his face for a moment, he rested
back in his chair, tugging his biology textbook back to himself.
“Good plan,” he muttered, flipping it back open to the page he’d been on.  “And
we’ll have to do that Casablanca thing sometime.  Maybe you could come over.
 Meet Sam.  He’s been dying to meet the guy who’s whipping my grades into
shape.”
A small smile curled his lips, “Yeah.  We’ll have to do that.”  He muttered,
resigning himself to leaning back in his chair, avoiding thinking about the
person sitting across from him lest he do something stupid and ruin what they'd
been building.
“Do you work this Friday?”
“Yes.  But I can cancel.  It’s not exactly an official position.”  Cas replied,
not wanting to get into the exact details of his little theft routine.
“Alright, cool.  We can head over after school-- hit the supermarket and pick
up Sam from class on the way.  Any other film requests you’ve got in mind?”  He
asked, sort of excited that Castiel was cancelling plans for him.
“I suppose you’d be better with the movie selection than I would.”  He replied,
“Though I am overly fond of Scarface.”
“Mob movies, huh?  Yet another piece to the ever evolving puzzle,” he grinned,
looking down at his book as he highlighted a passage.  “Scarface it is.  Maybe
we’ll even fit in The Untouchables.  Gotta love Kevin Costner.”
The conversation seemed to ebb off.  Dean had work to do, and Castiel had work
to not do, and the both of them felt it was comfortable enough to leave it as
is.  It was something Dean liked about their budding friendship-- the way they
could sit in silence together without needing to fill it.  He tried to focus on
the words in front of him, but found himself distracted by the feelings racing
through him.  
The week was going to be long, waiting around for Friday.
===============================================================================
 
Friday couldn’t come fast enough for Castiel, each day stretching by far too
slowly for his liking.  When it finally rolled around, it seemed like it
wouldn’t ever come to an end.  Every class he got out of, he had to force
himself not to go find Dean.  It seemed every thought that managed to pass
through his head somehow related to him.  Grass was no longer just green; it
was green, but not quite the green of Dean's eyes.  Assignments were no longer
simple work, but things he wondered if Dean knew or would like learning.
His breath almost stalled as he stared at the clock in the drama room,
forgetting his lines and his character in favour of counting the seconds it
would be until he could see Dean.  He knew somewhere in his mind that this
wasn’t exactly normal, but he chalked it up to finally having a friend-- a real
friend-- to do something with.  Castiel was out of there like a man possessed,
barging through the crowds to seek out Dean's class room, ignoring the indigent
shouts as he crashed into someone on the way.  Slowing, he managed to lean
fairly casually against the wall, shaking out his jacket and running a hand
through his hair to smooth down some of the less obedient sections.
The class came streaming out slowly, and Cas had to force himself not to perk
up in interest, settling his features into his usual disinterest as he waited
across from the door.  He noticed the second Dean came out, hearing his
laughter and spotting the smile on his face, and he felt something warm in him
at the sight.  Those green eyes caught his as he looked away from the slight
boy at his side, and Castiel took a kind of pleasure in seeing them widen as
his smile brightened.
“Cas,” he moved over to him, dodging a few younger students as he crossed the
hall to stand in front of him, friend in tow.  “Hi.”
“Hello, Dean.”  He greeted, pushing off from his place on the wall, and finding
himself in Dean’s space.
Dean had been thrumming with excitement all day-- practically buzzing with it.
 His friends had poked fun, asked him what was going on, and he’d just shrugged
them off and told them it was nothing.  It had been the thing that kept him
going through his long week, keeping him sane with the knowledge that Castiel
was coming over to his house, that he would get to make him dinner and watch
old movies with him all night; John had been home nursing a hangover and
griping about bills for most of it, and it had left Dean so high strung that it
was ridiculous, his only reprieve being the fact that Cas was coming over at
the end of it.  A reward for all of the trouble.  
Standing there, he lost himself for a moment.  His smile softened, and his grip
tightened on the strap of his book bag, gaze flitting over Castiel’s as he sank
into the blue of it.  He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed before, just how
blue his eyes were, how intensely blue-violet; like he was drowning or flying
or some combination of the two.
A throat cleared, and Dean startled, blinking to glance over at Garth’s
expectant face and a flush spread across his cheeks.  “Uh, Garth.  This is
Castiel.  Cas, this is Garth.”
“Heard a bit about you, Castiel.”  Garth smiled, all warm Southern twang, and
held his hand out for him to take.  Dean winced and his face only warmed even
more, but he played it off with an obvious roll of his eyes.  “Pleasure to make
your acquaintance.  Thank you for takin’ the time to whip my buddy Dean into
shape the way you’re doin’.  Much as we don’t like sharing him with those ball
kickin’ idiots or those speedo wearing pricks, we know he likes it, and it
means quite a bit.”
Castiel simply stared at the offered hand for a moment, eyebrow raised, trying
to ignore the flip his stomach did upon finding out Dean spoke of him.
 Finally, he shook Garth's hand; if he was a friend of Dean's, he must have
been alright.
"He's no where near as difficult to watch as you make it sound, trust me."  He
said, a half smile playing around his lips.
“I dunno,” Garth gave Dean a narrow-eyed look.  “You haven’t seen him play
Gears of War.  This boy needs to be watched.”
Dean elbowed his friend none-too-kindly in the side, making him grunt out a
soft curse.  “Don’t you have a job to get to?  Those comic books won’t sell
themselves, Garth-ie.”
“True enough,” he sighed, rubbing at the sore spot under his ribs.  “You still
coming over Sunday?  Gonna try out that new expansion pack for our DnD game--”
“--the Call of Cthulhu one, I remember.”  Dean blushed again, shooting Castiel
an embarrassed look, mortified that he was finding out Dean was a complete nerd
in such an abrupt manor-- gaming and playing Dungeons and Dragons with his free
time.  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Good to hear.  You know the girls will have your head if you don’t show for
two weekends in a row.”  Garth grinned, rocking forward on the balls of his
feet as he tucked his hands away in his levis before he tilted his head at
Castiel.  “Nice meetin’ you.  Don’t feel the need to be a stranger-- if you’re
interested, you can even tag along with our boy.  My house is always big enough
for one more.”
An amused smirk curled Castiel’s lips, looking over at Dean with what could
only be tease.  Even he knew what Dungeons and Dragons was. 
“If I ever feel the need to indulge myself in the nerd lifestyle, I’ll remember
that offer.”  He said, no bite to his tone despite the wording, brushing some
non-existent dust from his jacket.
“Well, we are the best place to embrace your inner dork.”  Garth smiled,
practically beaming at him before he moved away, heading down the crowded hall
and leaving Dean and Castiel to themselves. 
Dean paused as Garth left, adjusting his bag on his shoulder almost self-
consciously, and he swallowed thickly as he glanced back over at the Senior. 
“Please, do not feel the need to ever show up at Garth’s and play stupid,
childish games with us.  Not saying I wouldn’t want you there, just saying my
other friends are fond of humiliating me.”
Cas' smile only widened, looking over at him with unbridled amusement. 
“Dungeons and Dragons....  Really, Dean?”  He chuckled, “Don’t worry, I don’t
think I’ll need to indulge my inner nerd any time ever.”  He added, jerking his
head in gesture to follow as he walked away.  It took him a moment of silence,
a question burning the roof of his mouth, to look over at Dean.  “Who are the
girls?”  He asked, trying to sound casual.
“Oh, Meg and Charlie.  Sometimes Ruby, but she tends to be a controlling bitch-
- unfortunately, she’s a badass when we team up for our Guild Wars all
nighters.”  He gestured for them to move down a hall to the left, needing to
stop by his locker to drop some stuff off for the weekend.  “Charlie’s been my
best friend since forever-- the little lesbian sister I never wanted-- and Meg
is her girlfriend.  Ruby isn’t around much, but when she is, she’s hitting on
everyone.  Kind of a drifter.  Why?  What’s up?”
Castiel nodded evenly, somewhat relieved that both regular parties were out of
the proverbial dating picture.  It was then his own reaction crashed down on
him, unsure where the jealousy had come from, and why it was now gone.  It
wasn’t as though he was trying to flirt with Dean, or that he wanted anything
other than a steadily growing friendship. “Nothing.  I was just curious.”
“Well, at the risk of sounding like a cliche,” Dean grinned wryly, nudging into
his side briefly before he came to a stop at his locker.  “Curiosity killed the
cat.”
“Are you accusing me of being feline?”  Cas asked, the smile on his face
ruining any seriousness in his question.
“You certainly move like one sometimes,” he muttered in reply, entering the
combination into his lock before wrenching the door open.  “All sinuously, like
you’re stalking prey or something.  It’s kind of sexual, actually.”
A smirk curled Castiel’s lips, and he leaned against the locker next to Dean's,
uncaring for the frustrated looking  Junior, who's locker he was blocking, that
was glaring at him from the hallway only to earn a slightly haughty look from
Castiel.
"Does that mean you're looking?"  He asked, voice dropping to a near purr.
Heat rose up the back of Dean’s neck as he shuffled his books around, making
space for the ones he was putting away, and he shrugged a single shoulder,
unwilling to meet his undoubtedly knowing gaze.  “It’s kind of hard not to.”
Cas hummed in satisfaction as he leant back against the lockers, spine arching
just so as his shoulders pressed to the metal, elegant lines of long, and
sinuous limbs.  “I tend to have that effect.”  He said, equally as arrogant as
it was truthful.
“I’m sure,” he muttered, snapping his locker door shut and glancing over at him
for a moment, eyes flicking along the stretch of his body in a less than subtle
manner-- unabashed.  “You ready to go?  Or are you planning on standing there
and making the underclassmen drool for the rest of the day?”
"Decisions.  So where to?"  Cas chuckled, watching the trail of Dean's gaze,
pushing off the lockers with a certain grace.
Dean took in the way he moved with a kind of fluidity with a quiet
appreciation.  “Movie store for snacks and films-- and then my place?  I have
to watch Sam tonight, otherwise I’d say we could go to yours if that’s what you
wanted.”
“Yours is good.  My place isn’t exactly people ready.”  Cas said, a little
awkward, not wanting the terror that was Gabriel on his only friend.
“Neither is mine.  Generally, it’s a disaster area.  Except the kitchen; that’s
always clean,” he grinned, not mentioning the fact that he’d gotten up early
that day to make sure everything was spotless for Castiel’s visit, brushing by
him to lead the way through the halls and streams of people, heading for the
nearest exit.  “Speaking of which, what do you feel like eating tonight?  I can
whip up some pretty mean burgers, or chicken breast and veggies.  Or, if you’re
willing to make an extra stop at the super, we can make a pizza-- homemade,
whatever toppings you’d like-- though, you’ll have to deal with olives and
mushrooms because they’re Sammy’s favorite.”
Castiel gave a soft snort, picturing the mess of his own kitchen.  Following
Dean with surprising obedience despite his general nature, Castiel avoided
brushing up against anyone, moving between people with the ease born of
practice.  "I'll eat most things."  He replied, "Though the burgers sound
good.  I haven't had a cooked meal in years come to think of it."
“Seriously?”  Dean sounded aghast as he looked his way, expression vaguely
horrified.  “Oh, dude, we are so fixing that ASAP.”
There were offers on the tip of Dean’s tongue-- to invite him over more often,
to cook for him-- and even his older brother if he’d like-- on a fairly regular
basis, to force feed him if he needed.  Unfortunately, a collision of bodies
knocked the breath out of him for a moment, and the words as well.  Turning his
attention to who he’d run into, he steadied both himself and the other teen,
hands braced against fairly narrow shoulders. 
“Winchester!”  Green met green, and Dean let out a tight sigh as Adam beamed at
him.  “Hey, man, where the fuck have you been?”
“Uh, you know, just been--”
“--busy, right.  I remember.”  Adam nodded, mockingly solemn, and Dean took a
slow step back; he didn’t want to be in his space anymore than he had to.  “Any
chance you’re gonna become un-busy anytime soon?”
Another voice chimed in, belonging to Chet-- the smarmy midfielder who was
always leaving his position open-- as he leaned against Adam’s shoulder, eyes
keen on Dean.  “Seriously, bro.  You’ve been gone, for what?  A month now? 
Games are gonna start soon, and you’re gonna be shit outta shape.  Talk about a
lot of bench time.”
“Somebody’s gotta keep it warm,” their goalie, Jake, a tall Senior who was
always missing practices for JROTC, jibed playfully.  Dean shot him a faint
grin; Jake wasn’t half bad of a guy when he wasn’t on an ego trip or pissed
off.  “And Dean-o, here, can do whatever he puts his mind to.  Remember that
kick-ass play he did on JV last season?  Head-butted it right into the goal,
the spry little bastard.  Ain’t that right, Dean?”
“It was just luck--”
“Spry, or not,” Adam cut him off, a smug little smirk curling on his lips, and
Dean felt himself bristle.  “He’s still gonna be benched if he doesn’t watch
himself.”
Chet snorted, leering at Dean from the shoulder he was lazing on.  “Well, he’s
got the ass for it.  Got the ass for anything, honestly.”
“God damn, Chet.  Would you shut your ass up?”  Jake snapped at him, a look of
disgust flitting over his face.  “I don’t wanna be thinking about you checkin’
us all out in the locker rooms, man.”
“Not all of you,” he snickered, guffawing slightly when Jake gave him a sharp
shove that left him stumbling for a moment.
Adam rolled his eyes, shaking his head and giving Dean a look that he knew was
meant to be companionable but came off as condescending.  “So are you coming to
practice, or not?”
Shame welled up in him.  Because, despite the fact that he missed the field and
the game and a few of his teammates, he couldn’t play.  He wasn’t allowed.  No
practice, no games.  Not until he got his grades up-- though, they were well on
their way-- and no longer needed a tutor.  Schooling his features, he shrugged
nonchalantly, but his grip was tight on the strap of his backpack.
“Sorry.  No can do.  Not today.”
Adam scoffed, crossing his arms, and it was like he’d just noticed the
upperclassman who’d been standing by Dean the entire time, eyes flickering to
Castiel briefly with disdain before landing back on Dean.  “What, you’ve got
more importantplans?  ‘Cause if you’re gonna get high, I’ve got what you need,
man.”
The derision in his tone made Dean was to simultaneously throw up and punch him
in the face.  Brow furrowing, he took another step back, and slightly to the
side as he drew closer to Castiel.  It was ridiculous, the judgement Adam held
in his gaze as he glanced over at Cas, and it made Dean’s skin crawl.  How
could someone be so prejudiced?  Especially when they were the ones offering up
drugs for him to take.  Jaw clenching briefly, he grinned at Adam bitterly, and
swallowed down the touch of fury that had began burning in him. 
“Actually, yeah.”  He bit out, noting the appraising look Jake shot Castiel’s
way, and finding a little bit of relief when he spotted the acceptance there
that was quickly obliterated by the sneer on Chet’s lips.  “Gotta watch my
brother, and Cas and I are watching some movies tonight.”  Tense, he reached
for Castiel’s wrist and gave a subtle tug, as if urging him to move; he knew
what it sounded like, what it no doubt looked like, but he just wanted to get
out of there.  “Which we’re running late for.  So we should get going.”
“You should mind your tone.”  Castiel said, voice cold and unfearing, not
liking the way Adam stared, judgmental, and scathing even.  He may not have
been popular like they were, but he knew how to be feared, knew when somebody
was pushing a little too far, jabbing at the gaps in Dean’s armour; he could
feel the way Dean tensed up, the way he tried to pull back.  The urge to
protect welled up in him again, the usual care he took to keep himself safe
forgotten in favour of Dean’s.  Pulling his hand from Dean’s, Cas straightened
out to stand taller than the majority of the people before him, every inch of
his posture tensed, as though expecting them to launch at him.
Adam flicked his attentions to Castiel the second he spoke, almost disbelieving
as they sized each other up, neither making any move against the other, though
they never wavered, a tense distance between them. “And youshould mind your own
business.  Maybe keep your creepy ass out of my friend’s life.  Because if I
had a little brother?  I sure as hell wouldn’t want a guy like you hanging
around him.” He retorted, cold and scathing as they squared off.
The faint sting that came with Adam’s words was quickly masked, detectible only
to someone who knew him well enough to spot his discomfort. Cas' hands clenched
into fists, nails digging into his palms hard enough to leave marks to keep
from lashing out, not wanting to cause a scene. Not now, not here, it would
ruin what should be a good evening.
A snarl settled onto Castiel’s lips, radiating a certain power, the kind that
was rarely seen in someone his age.
“This is my business.”  He said, voice dropping to a deadly quiet.  “And
frankly, I don’t think you want that to be the case, so why don’t you take your
show troupe of hairless apes, and fuck off.”
“What did you just say to me, you prick--?”
“Adam,” Jake cut him off, hand on his shoulder to pull him back, or hold him
still if he tried to do anything.  “Come on, man, lay off.  Dean’s busy, and
there’s no reason we shouldn’t respect that.  If he’s hanging out with Novak,
that’s his choice.”
Dean felt his gut clench, anxiety clawing at his insides as he saw the
beginnings of a fight, and instantly felt the need to defuse it, grateful that
Jake had the same idea.  Nodding at him, he flashed an apologetic smile, and
Jake returned it as he tugged Adam back a step with superior strength.  Adam
seemed to be cooling down a bit, hackles still raised, but temper ebbing off
bit by bit.  Shrugging out of Jake’s grip, he kept his glare on Castiel for a
moment longer before it dropped to Dean.
“When you’re done slumming it, you’ve got a team that could use you,
Winchester.”  He said snidely, and Dean could only focus on the rigidity of
Castiel’s shoulders as he hesitantly reached out to grip his wrist again-- to
hopefully ground him, and keep him from swinging it and starting something
they’d all regret.
He winced as Adam brushed by, shoulders colliding a touch too harshly, and he
let out a sharp sigh as they trailed off together, leaving Dean with Castiel
once more, a few sets of eyes burning into them curiously.  “Let’s get out of
here?”
The hand curled around his wrist was the only thing that stopped Castiel from
breaking his nose, almost disappointed he couldn’t.  He watched him go, none of
the tension dropping until Adam was gone, relaxing enough to turn back to Dean,
nodding sharply as he rolled his shoulder and started to walk away.  “Is he
always that much of a dick, or is this a special occasion?”
Barking out a faint laugh, Dean kept stride with him, fingers still clasped
loosely just above Castiel’s hand.  “There’s nothing special about it.  Adam
thinks he’s God’s gift to the team, and he likes to keep all of his ducks in a
row.  He happens to think I’m one of his ducks.”
Cas didn’t even notice the hand still attached to his wrist until they’d exited
the school building, finding something oddly calming about the gesture,
deciding to play stupid until Dean noticed as well.  “Maybe next time I’ll have
to take him down a few pegs then.  I think he’d look good with a black eye.” 
He said, oddly enthused by the idea of violence.
“You’re kind of awesome, you know that?”  Dean chuckled, giving him a bemused
look as they walked across the parking lot, only releasing his hold on him once
they’d reached the car and felt that familiar heat creep up the back of his
neck, though he played it off casually.
Castiel shrugged, almost protesting the loss of a warm hand curled around his
wrist.  “I do now.”  He said, a smile just barely flitting over his lips, the
usual banter between them calming him down.  Climbing into the passenger's side
with a growing familiarity, he rubbed at his wrist absently, trying to replace
the feeling of Dean’s hand.
 
***** Before the Night Is Through (I Wanna Do Bad Things With You) *****
 
Dean had been worried, at first, that maybe Sam wouldn’t like Castiel.  He
wasn’t sure why, exactly, he was so worried.  For some reason, it had been
important.  That Sam liked Castiel.  That Sam approved of him-- both as a tutor
and as a friend.  It had been stupid of him to stress over it because his
brother had taken to the older teen instantly, asking him question after
question about everything.
Dean would have to remember to apologize for the third degree later.
As the evening went on, things seemed to go smoothly.  Sam was happy to have
burgers, and even more enthusiastic about the candy Dean had brought him.  He’d
managed to sneak an entire pack of gummy bears upstairs to his room after he
found out they would be monopolizing the television for the remainder of the
night.  He left Dean and Castiel alone in the kitchen as Dean cleaned up,
wanting to get it out of the way before he settled down for the night.
“Do you want popcorn now,” Dean asked over his shoulder, hands buried in soapy
water.  “Or are you still full from dinner?”
A pleased, and oddly contented smile settled on Castiel’s lips, belly full of
the best meal he’d had in far too long.  Despite his original nerves, he’d
gotten along just fine with Sam, patiently answering all of his questions-
- yes, the bar of metal in his ear did hurt, and no, he did not break into the
bank two states over, that was his brother.  He leaned against the kitchen
bench, passing Dean dirty dishes in some strange production line, as he waited
for his reply.
“Later, I guess.  Unless you want some.”  He said easily, finding Dean’s home
to be almost more inviting than his own, familiar almost.
“Nah, I’m good.”  Dean replied, rinsing off a plate before he moved it to the
drying rack and then held out his hand for the next dish.  “We have plenty of
movies to get through, so we should probably make the snack-age last for as
long as we can.”
Passing a pan across, Castiel nodded, knowing it was going to be a long night
of many movies.  Though he was a little worried about the size of the couch
because, frankly, being that close to Dean did strange things to his heart
rate.
“Agreed.” He said, passing across the next dish.
“And, hey,” he paused, suds slipping down his forearms and dripping on the edge
of the counter as he looked over at him.  “Whenever you want to go home or
whatever, I can take you.  No big.”
The smile on his face slipped a little at the thought of going home, far too
comfortable here for his apartment to ever compete.  “Yeah.  Sure.”  He said, a
little uncertain.  “Though I warn you, now I know where you live, you’ll never
get rid of me.”  He added, trying to disguise the slip in his tone.
“Stalk much?”  Dean teased, finishing off rinsing the last of the dishes before
he set them all on the rack and then dried his hands on a towel that hung off
the handle of the oven.  “You’re not gonna turn into a peeping tom, are you? 
Because I willget a restraining order-- you know, in twenty years, when I can
afford a lawyer.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get used to me in twenty years.”  Cas returned, not
thinking about the implication of his words until too late, freezing up for a
moment as he process what he’d just said.  “Uh...  You know what I mean.”  He
added hastily.
Regarding him for a moment, Dean smiled lopsidedly and decided to let a prime
opportunity to taunt him pass as he moved over to the fridge to grab them both
something to drink.  “I’m actually surprised you’re planning on sticking around
that long.  I’m pretty boring-- you sure you wanna make that kind of
commitment?”
Composing himself with a long breath, Castiel watched him move, a little too
distracted by the flex of his arms.  “You’d be surprised what I’ll commit too,”
he said, “and I don’t think you’d be thatboring.”
“Right.  Because I am, oh, so very exciting to be around.” Dean hummed, tone
dry, as he pulled his head back out of the fridge to look over at him. 
“Rootbeer?”
Nodding, Castiel met his gaze easily, something strangely intense as he watched
him.  “I think you’re interesting.”  He said quietly, looking away at his
admission.
Dean paused, flush burning at his cheeks as he stared at him for a long, almost
awkward moment.  Muttering a soft “thank you,” he buried back into the
refrigerator, only emerging again when he had two frosty bottles in hand and
he’d willed his blush away.  Kicking the door shut behind him, he moved over to
where he was leaning against the counter, placing the edge of the bottle cap
there before he snapped it off with a fluid motion that spoke of practice. 
Holding Castiel’s out for him to take, he offered up a small but genuine smile.
“I think you’re pretty interesting, too.”
Meeting his gaze evenly, Castiel smiled a little at the flush on his face,
finding his little murmur nothing short of adorable.  Snapping the top off his
bottle on the edge of the dish rack, his smile only widened, nose crinkling a
little, heart beat rising as Dean smiled at him.  After an awkward silence, he
started a little.  “I uh.  Guess we ought to start then?”
“Right,” he took a step back, almost timidly, and turned so that he could lead
the way back into the living room.  “What do you want to watch first?  We’ve
got, like, a massive amount of choices.”
They hadn’t been able to decide on a movie at the rental place, bantering over
different titles from between aisles.  They’d ended up with about six of them,
most of the selections older, and then a few new releases that neither of them
had seen yet, but were extremely enthusiastic about ripping them apart and
shouting at the screen in outrage at all of the physical impossibilities and
inaccuracies.  Dean supposed it just meant they were in for a long night;
something he was perfectly fine with.
Privately, he was sort of hoping Castiel would stay the entire night and into
the morning so that he could make them all breakfast.
“I’m craving Pulp Fiction.”  Castiel replied, rolling his shoulders as he
regained his control, trying not to focus on the way Dean flushed and backed
away, bashful in all the best ways.  Shifting from foot to foot, he pushed off
the counter, making his way into the living room with surprising ease for
someone who’d never been there before.
“I always love a good Sammy J when settling in for the night,” he grinned
wryly, plopping unceremoniously onto the couch.  “No objections here. 
Especially since I already put it in.”
Reaching forward, he snatched up the remote and turned the TV on.  It flickered
to life, and he quickly changed the station over to reveal the DVDs main menu. 
Giving Castiel a smug little smile, happy to have his own first choice match
Castiel’s, and he slumped back before patting the cushion next to him. 
“Come on,” he cajoled, tone bemused considering they only had the one couch. 
“Take a seat, any seat.”
Rolling his eyes, Castiel moved to sit next to him, a little stiffer than he
might considering the proximity between them, no longer comfortable to lean in
closer to him lest he do something stupid.
“I think all the others are taken.”  He said flatly, falling back on tease to
hide some of his growing awkwardness.
“Oh, are they?”  Dean asked glibly, nudging at his foot with his own,
suppressing a smile when he caught the sight of the way his guest’s socked foot
seemed to twitch alongside his bare one.  “I hadn’t noticed.”
Huffing out a soft laugh, Castiel shifted a little as their thighs brushed,
swallowing thickly to keep his mind from wandering too far onto the topic of
those wonderful legs.  “Don’t you think that’s a little unobservant?”
“Maybe a little,” he admittedly, pressing the select button, and setting the
remote aside once the opening scene began playing out across the screen.  A
flare of heat skittered through him at the gentle connection between them,
feeling the warmth of Castiel’s leg hovering just next to his.  “I never said I
was observant.”
Taking a moment to admire Dean’s features, he had to shake his focus back,
turning to watch the film.  As the movie started Cas began to relax, having
something other than Dean’s legs to focus on.  A small, but overly fond smile
curled his lips, the flaring and subsiding colours of the television lighting
up his face.  Films always had been one of his favorite things, stories so
unlike his own, other worlds and new people to explore.
Idly, Dean nursed his bottle, letting it rest against his knee when he wasn’t
drinking.  Soon, he was engrossed in the story, though he kept making little
comments about the filming, the story, and the acting.  Things he admired,
things he didn’t like, and everything in between. 
About halfway through, Dean shifted, and relaxed more fully in his seat. 
Humming under his breath, his legs spread a bit more, and he rolled his head to
release some of the tension that had settled in him since he’d stopped playing
sports.
“You want anything?”  He asked, voice hushed as he leaned close, like they were
in a theater and he needed to worry about disturbing other patrons.  “I’m
getting kinda munchy.”
Castiel all but ignored his drink, engrossed in the film save for the few
comments he shared with Dean, finally turning to look at him as he felt breath
against his cheek, suddenly way too close.  “Uh...  Yeah.  Sure.  Food.”  He
mumbled, absent as he found himself distracted by the curve of Dean’s lips, and
the smatter of freckles over his nose.
“Popcorn and chocolate covered raisins?”
Blinking rapidly, he nodded, trying to make it as subtle as possible to avoid
smacking against his forehead.  “Sure.”
“You want anything else?”  He asked, brows lifting curiously.
“We have a lot to get through, it’d be a shame to run out.”  He replied,
pulling back to get some space between them.
Standing up, he offered up a lopsided grin as he moved out of the room.  “Good
idea.  Just popcorn and chocolate covered raisins for now then.”  Hovering in
the doorway, he glanced back at him.  “Don’t bother pausing, I’ve seen it a
million and five times.”
The remote had already been plucked off the couch arm when Dean spoke, and
Castiel stopped as he was about to pause the film, looking over at him.  “So
have I.”  He admitted, still a little reluctant to let up information despite
their growing closeness.
“Then what are we doing paying such close attention to it?”  He laughed,
calling out from the kitchen.  “We should be doing something more useful than
wasting all of our time watching the same things over and over-- or so I’m told
by many professional adults.”
“We are reevaluating the resonating themes of a cinema classic.”  Cas returned,
the smile on his face ruining any seriousness of his statement, purposefully
ignoring his question.
Chuckling, he shook his head, popping the bag of popcorn into the microwave as
he leaned against the counter to wait.  “I should have you come up with the
thesis for my next paper if you’re going with that off the fly.”
“How do you think I pass English.”  He snorted, twisting to see him better as
he leant against the counter in an oddly flexible manner for someone who didn’t
actively do any kind of sport.
“Probably because you like it,” Dean muttered, drumming his fingers against the
top of the microwave impatiently, cocking a hip out as he put all of his weight
onto one foot.  He hummed to himself, some little Beatles’ tune, his toes
wiggling against the linoleum tiles.
“Well yeah, that too.”  Cas mumbled, watching as Dean tapped a foot against the
floor, listening curiously as he hummed, trying to place the unfamiliar tune. 
After a few bars, he spoke up.  “What song is that?”
Glancing over sharply, he cut himself off with a soft sound, blush climbing up
his neck and over his face.  “Uh... Hey Jude.  Didn’t know you were listening.”
“I’m always listening.”  Cas said simply, only realising how creepy it was
after he’d spoken.
“Well, that’s--”  Dean huffed out a nervous chuckle.  “That’s good to know. 
I’ll make sure I never sing around you.  It’s terribly off key.” 
Swallowing thickly, he turned his attention back to the microwave, scrambling
slightly when the alarm went off.  Popping the door open, he reached in and
grabbed the edges of the bag, hissing as he ripped the top of it to let out
steam.  Turning back around, he elbowed the door shut, and then snagged a
couple of boxes of Raisinettes off of the counter.  Strolling back into the
living room, he sat down on the couch, offering up some popcorn to Castiel-
- stalling briefly when he realized just how closely they were sitting.
“It’s bound to be better than mine.”  He assured, shifting to allow Dean space
to sit, pressed up against each other on a slightly too small couch.  Snagging
a handful of popcorn, he threw one in the air and caught it with a snap of
teeth, refocusing on the movie.
Slightly tense, but not uncomfortable, Dean settled back in.  His hand dove
into the bag, pulling out a handful of kernels before he ate them one by one. 
It didn’t take him long to relax once more, easing into the cushions and trying
his best to ignore the constant flare of awareness he felt while pressed along
Castiel’s side.  Letting out a long breath, Cas relaxed into the couch,
managing to ignore the press of their bodies with the kind of focus born of
hours of practise.  Leaning his elbows on his knees, his spine curved forward
to support his body, Castiel tilted his head minutely as yet another person was
slaughtered, expected violence from a favorite film.
With the way he was folded forward, Dean could look at him without fear of
being caught.  Eyes flickering over the length of him, he couldn’t help but
admire the perfect mess of his hair, the way his shirt clung to him just right,
the toned muscle he hid under a leather jacket every day.  Gaze raking up his
spine, he came to a stuttering halt on the hints of black that peaked out from
beneath the sleeve of his shirt.
“Holy shit.”
Turning around to him, Castiel raised an eyebrow in question as he found
himself looking at an obvious stare.  “Problem?”  He asked, following the line
of Dean’s stare to the flicks of black ink peaking out from his shirt.
“You have a tattoo.”  Dean stated dumbly, fingers itching to reach out and
touch.  “You have a tattoo?”
“Yes.  I have a tattoo.  I also have a nose and two eyes.”  He deadpanned,
raising his eyebrows for a second as he straightened out.  “I have several,
actually.”
“Several?”  He gawked, eyes flooding up to meet his gaze, unbridled interest
evident in his gaze.  “Can I-- I mean, can I see them?”
Pausing for a moment, he contemplated his request, noting the interest in
Dean’s eyes, unable to turn him away.  He lifted the back of his shirt,
tattooed wings that curved out onto his upper arms revealed, individual
feathers lined in black from the middle of his spine outwards, span flaring as
his arms moved in surprisingly intricate detail.
“This is the most recent.  Other one is a few years old.”
“Fuck, that’s wicked,” he breathed, setting the bag of popcorn onto the coffee
table so that he could inch closer.  “Why wings?”  Before he could stop
himself, he was reaching out, fingers brushing over inked skin.  He traced the
patterns idly, just barely touching, the ghost of sensation.  They were
beautiful and so well done, shifting with the muscle under his skin when he
rolled his shoulders.  Dean felt like he could trace each individual feather,
and that they all would be different in some way.
He shivered as fingertips traced over the lines inked into his back, muscle
twitching under his hands, a faint flush burning the tips of his ears.  He
swallowed thickly, debating revealing his reasoning for a moment, looking over
his shoulder.  “My mother gave all of us Angel names...  I thought it would be
fitting.”  He explained.
Dean’s expression turned solemn, though there was still the barest hint of awe
in his eyes as he let his palm rest of the expanse of art littering Castiel’s
back.  “...Do you remember her?  Your mom?”
Castiel shook his head, trying to ignore the hand at his back.  “Not really.” 
He said, contemplating his next words carefully.  “Sometimes I think I might. 
The little things that strike a memory, but it could have been my brothers... 
I don’t really know.”
“Yeah, I get that.”  His gaze flickered up, meeting his in understanding. 
“Sam’s a bit like that.  He’ll uh-- He’ll tell stories of things that happened
between him and mom, and... Well, they were things I told him happened between
her and me.  I think he just wants memories of her.”
He hated thinking it, but he thought maybe Castiel had it better off.  Better
to not have anything to miss her for, instead of all the things in Dean’s head-
- little things, things that kept him up some nights.  Like the way he could
never get his clothes to smell like she could when she washed them.  Like the
way she used to sing him to sleep.  Like the notes she would leave in his
lunches.  He was full of her memories; the house was full of her, and it always
would be.  He thought maybe it was better in ignorant bliss.
The rough pad of his thumb brushed along the top ridge of one of the delicate
looking wings, eyes drawn to the intricate picture once more as a sad smile
played on his lips.  “She used to say that Angels were watching over me.”
Almost hyper aware of the hand still resting at the middle of his back, Cas met
his gaze evenly, a frown tugging his lips as Dean spoke, knowing the feeling
all too well.  “At least she didn’t ask you to be her Angels.”  He mumbled,
recalling the few stories he’d been told about his mother.  “That’s what she
called us....  They never told me why, but she’d call all of us her Angels.”
“Kind of ironic then, huh?”  Dean grinned wryly, but there was still something
vital and warm missing from his gaze as his fingers trailed down to the lowest
point of Castiel’s wing.  “You being an Angel and being my tutor.”
The void left in Dean's expression was a little off putting as Castiel looked
up at him, spine arching ever so slightly into his hand, craving the warmth it
provided, the strange intimacy that came with their closeness.  Swallowing, he
offered a half grin, lips twitching in bitter amusement.  "Raised you from the
perils of bad grades."
Dean laughed, shoulders shaking with his mirth for a moment, and he gave him a
strangely affectionate look.  "Yeah, I suppose that's true, isn't it?  From the
depths of the layer of Hell reserved for slackers like me."
“At least you got out.”  He returned, matching his smile, feeling the way
Dean’s shoulder shook. Swallowing, a slightly awkward silence fell over them,
neither willing to break it though even Cas knew they’d lingered a little too
long; generally, friends didn’t blatantly touch each other like that for
prolonged periods of time.  Clearing his throat, he shifted away, pulling his
shirt back down as he settled back down only to find the end credits rolling.
Pulling his hand back to himself, Dean couldn’t ignore the way it tingled, or
the way he missed the heat of his skin the second it was gone.  He had to
suppress another blush, clasping his hands together in his lap for a moment as
they sat there.  He could only imagine how Castiel felt, how awkward it must
have been to have Dean’s hand all over his back, embarrassed by his own
forwardness.  Jaw flexing, he reached for the remote, moving to stop the DVD so
that they could put in the next one.
“I’ve thought of getting a tattoo,” he said, trying to ease the tension that
had settled between them as he slid from the couch to move across the room and
kneel in front of the TV so that he could take the disc out and replace it in
its case. 
Sighing softly, Cas shifted in his seat, watching the way Dean flushed,
obviously uncomfortable.  Perhaps showing him wasn’t such a good idea after
all.  Swallowing again, he watched as he replaced the DVD, concentrating on the
question in effort to reduce the awkward silence.  “Yeah...  What of?”
“I uh... I honestly have no idea,” he chuckled, dragging a hand through his
hair as he looked back over at him, holding up two more movies-- Casablanca and
Princess Bride-- for Castiel to pick between.  “Probably one of the reasons I
haven’t gotten one.  I mean, I kind of want it to mean something, but I’m not
sure what I would want permanently on my skin, you know?  Or where.”
“They don’t have to have some deep meaning...  But I guess it makes it easier
to keep.  Where’s the question you have to worry about.  Some places hurt more
than others.”  He said, shrugging a little, less out of indifference, and more
trying to alleviate the blanket of tension around them.  Hesitating for a
moment, he regarded the films apparently for his choosing, looking a little
embarrassed as he pointed to The Princess Bride.
“As you wish,” Dean grinned, giving a faint bow before he turned to plop the
movie into the player, standing in a swift and easy movement while the film
loaded, and moving back to sit next to him on the couch.  “Where would you
suggest then?  For a first time.”
Flushing a little, Cas shifted in attempt to put some space between them, not
wanting to make Dean anymore uncomfortable than he had.  “Not your back.”  He
said, a half grin on his face.  “Really depends, more flesh, less pain.  Bony
places hurt the most.”
“So I guess something on my hip is out of the question,” he said, half-serious,
though his tone quickly turned sarcastic.  “Same with that Tramp Stamp I had
been so hoping on getting.”  Tilting his head, he regarded him steadily for a
moment, before his brows drew together inquisitively.  “Where do youthink I
should get one?”
Laughing quietly, Castiel met his gaze for a brief moment, holding it for as
long as he dared.  “It depends on a lot of factors.  Size of the tattoo,
design...  I mean, it’d look a bit strange if I got wings tattooed on my legs. 
If you want to cover it, how well you handle pain.”  He said, expression
quirking into an amused smirk.  “Though I think a Tramp Stamp would look just
fine on you....  Got the ass for it.”
“Been checking out my ass, have you?”  He grinned, slightly crooked and
completely charming -- it was the same expression he’d used to earn tips
whenever he’d have to work at Ellen’s-- all dark and inviting.  Inching just a
little closer, his smile broadened a bit, enjoying these stupid games they
seemed to play with one another.  The tension that seemed to be there, always
just under the surface. 
“Who hasn’t?” He retorted, raising an eyebrow at him, masking the little flop
his stomach did when Dean grinned. “You’re the type to attract attention.”
“Are you trying to tell me that I attracted your attention?”  He asked
playfully, giving him and obnoxiously fake coy glance, head tilting in
curiosity.  “Or at least that my ass did?”
"It's a notable addition to an already entertaining physique."  Castiel said,
carefully wording his reply, aware that he was bordering dangerously close to
truth as opposed to their usual banter.
“Entertaining, huh?  In what way?”  He let his arms drape along the top edge
and the armrest of the couch, stretching just right to let his shirt ride up,
revealing a strip of tanned skin.  “And exactly what other parts of my
physiqueattracted your attention?”
Castiel opened his mouth to reply only to close it was an abrupt click of
teeth, deciding that ‘all of it’ wasn’t a very good answer. Swallowing thickly,
he mumbled incoherently for a moment, eyes drawn to the strip of skin revealed,
willing his heart rate to slow the fuck down.
“It’s uh...  Very interesting.”  He mumbled, shifting awkwardly in his seat,
all confidence lost.  Internally, he was rattling off the ever growing list of
Dean’s physical traits, from the stupid grin he sometimes wore to the curve of
his spine, each as tantalising as the next, debating which was safe to mention
without sounding too creepy.  “What...  Uh, just my attentions specifically,
because people say things all the time...  Girl in my English class rants about
your eyes frequently, so I suppose people notice them...  They’re nice though.
I guess.”
Dean tried to bite back the flush that spread over his cheeks, but he couldn’t,
and he looked down for a moment despite the grin still playing on his face. 
“You’re attracted to my eyes?”
For a moment Cas forgot how to breath, fiddling restlessly with the hem of his
shirt, the appearance he tried so hard to keep up falling apart around him over
a simple question.  “I never said that.”  He said abruptly, almost defensive, a
flush burning his cheeks.  It wasn’t as though he could blatantly say, “No, I’m
attracted to your everything.”  Friends did not say that to other friends.
“Right,” he nodded, feeling a sudden drop in his stomach at his words; he
hadn’t even realized he’d been hoping Castiel would say yes until he didn’t. 
“It’s just one of those interesting attributes of mine.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.”  He replied, shifting away from him in effort to avoid
saying anything stupid. Refocusing half hearted attention on the movie, he let
out a soft sigh.  Of all the people he could have chosen to be friends with,
why did it have to be the stupidly attractive one.
Plucking the bag of popcorn back up, Dean rested it between them, his own
attention turning to the TV.  Except he wasn’t watching it at all, too busy
focusing on the strange sensation of disappointment that had settled in him. 
He wanted nothing more than to press back along his side, relax back into the
cushions, and pretend that Castiel was attracted to his eyes.  To the rest of
him.  It was a wrenching feeling that he hadn’t known he had in him, and it
almost made him want to squirm.
“Do you need a new soda or anything?”
Resting a hand against his own knee, Castiel had to squeeze periodically to
keep his thoughts from slipping into unwanted territory, fruitless as it was
with Dean so close.  Shaking his head a little, he shifted again, trying to
forget the warm press of their legs, and the rough pad of Dean’s thumb, and the
way a flush creeped up his neck.  Jerking to face him, he stalled for a moment,
looking down at his finished bottle and nodding slowly.
“Uh.  Yeah, sure.”
He slid to his feet and moved to take Castiel’s bottle, planning on replacing
it, when he lost his footing against the edge of the couch.  His arm shot out
to catch himself on the back of it, glass clinking as it clattered against the
floor, and his breath stuck in his throat as he found himself leaning over
Castiel.  Freezing, he met his gaze with wide eyes, taking in the blue of them-
- so intense that he thought he might lose himself in them-- and feeling heat
creep across his face as a blush blossomed over his cheeks, lips parting with
his faint gasp.
Cas froze up, momentarily forgetting the English language as he found himself
with a face full of Dean Winchester.  Swallowing thickly, he met his gaze for a
moment, breath stalling in his throat, a bright flush on his cheeks as he
picked up the bottle and handed it back, hoping to avoid getting any closer.
Caught there, Dean hesitated, voice soft when he spoke.  “You’re eyes are nice
too...  I guess.”
Babbling something that sounded foreign, Castiel gaped at him for a moment,
unable to look away, heart pounding in his chest.  Swallowing thickly, he let
his gaze wander a little, tracking across the line of his jaw, the peak of his
cupid’s bow, breath stalling in his throat.  They were so close he could feel
warm breath on his lips, it wouldn’t even take effort to lean just that little
bit further; he had to grip at the couch cushion to keep from giving in and
ruining the only friendship he’d ever had.
Dean seemed to sway forward just a bit, body willing to do what neither of them
could, when Sam’s shout from upstairs startled the both of them. 
“Can you pop me some popcorn, Dean?”
Muscles sprung into action as he pushed off from where he’d been holding
himself up, standing before Castiel, undoubtedly flustered as he stepped back;
he bumped into the coffee table, jostling it slightly, and cursed under his
breath at the way his legs seemed to keep shaking.  “Pop it your own goddamn
self, Sammy!  You’re not crippled.”
“Neither are you--”
“Besides, don’t you have an entire bag of candy up there?  You don’t need any
more food.”
His lips quirked up in amusement when he heard Sam’s annoyed huff, and he gave
Castiel one of those ‘kids, what can you do?’ looks as he shrugged, trying his
best to get them back to comfortable, sturdy ground. 
“What happened to me being a growing boy and needing all I can eat?”
“If you want it, you have to get it yourself.”  Dean replied, rubbing his hands
on the thighs of his jeans, finding his palms clammy from the way his nerves
were buzzing.  “Growing boys also need to stay active.”
“Nevermind,” he groused and there was the slam of a door shutting, and Dean
winced as he finally willed himself to move again.
“Soda, right?”
Cas let out a sigh of relief as Dean stepped away, letting up the pressure on
the couch, temptation avoided.  Panting a little, he nodded dumbly to Dean’s
question, licking his lips in effort to return some kind of moisture to a
suddenly parched mouth.
When Dean returned from the kitchen, he felt like he was walking on pins and
needles.  His body seemed to thrum with some kind of unfulfilled anticipation,
and he settled back onto the couch, holding Castiel’s bottle out for him as
they both pressed to opposite sides.  He let his focus return to the television
set, finding Princess Buttercup already having been kidnapped, and the Dread
Pirate Roberts scaling The Cliffs of Insanity as Inigo awaited him at the top. 
It took him a long moment to relax again, pressing his own drink to his temple,
the icy cold of it calming the sudden turmoil within him.  Dean laughed as
Roberts-- who was so obviously Wesley it was ridiculous-- quipped with Inigo,
and he glanced over at Castiel with bemusement in his gaze.  Hesitating only
for a second, he nudged at the other boy’s leg with his own, gesturing to the
screen with his chin.
“Have you ever read the book?”
Returning to the film was harder than Cas expected, shifting periodically in
attempt to reduce the tension that had taken hold of his back.  Breathing and
heart rate evening out to a steady rate, he started as Dean nudged his leg,
turning sharply to him.  “No...  I wasn’t aware there was one.”
Dean nearly swallowed his own tongue, shifting to simultaneously face him and
the TV.  “Cas, are you fucking serious?  It’s hilarious, you have to read it,
oh my god.”
Nodding, a smile curled his lips, albeit a shaky one.  “I’ll put it on my
list.”
“I have it,” he supplied, almost awkwardly, smiling back.  “If you want to
borrow it.  I own it.  It was my mom’s-- I kept all of her books.  You can
borrow it.”
The smile on his face dropped abruptly at the offer, oddly touched by the
sentiment behind it.  “I’ll return it within the week.”  He promised, tone
solem.
“It’s okay.  You can-- I mean, there’s no rush.  I’ve read it a million
times.”  He laughed faintly, and there was a pang in his chest that he
stubbornly ignored.  “Take your time with it; it’s really not a big deal.”
A furrow appeared between his brows, regarding him evenly for a long moment. 
“I’ll take care of it.”  He assured, vowing not to let any harm come to a book
that obviously held some sentimental value.
“I know.”
Dean flashed him a smile, completely confident in Castiel’s ability to keep one
of his keepsakes undamaged.  Turning back to the film, he chuckled softly,
recalling the brilliantly written text and comparing it alongside the film,
both just as good as the other.  Content that things had lulled back into
normalcy, he let out a soft hum, lifting his drink to his lips and nursing it
for a moment as they sat there.
Nodding slowly, Cas sipped idly at his drink, returning to the film, a soft
smile on his face, knowing the worst of their little run in had been avoided,
though he could help but flush recalling it.  He was quite sure that this was
not what having a friend felt like.
===============================================================================
 
Sam’s hair was an absolute mess when he woke up on Saturday morning.  He came
crawling out of bed at nearly noon, and he expected to find the smell of
pancakes, or bacon, or hopefully both.  Unfortunately, all he found was the
television playing a loop ofOne Who Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nestmenu screen, and
his brother curled up on the couch with Castiel, wrappers scattered and
littered around the living room.
Yawning, he blinked tiredly, and then gave a rueful smile as his older brother
snored softly, body slumped against the other man’s.  If Sam didn’t know any
better, he’d say that they had had a successful first date.  Padding from the
room, he made his way into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge door,
snagging an apple to bide his appetite until the idiots in the other room
decided to wake up.
Faint music and invading light had Castiel stirring from a surprisingly
comfortable sleep, nose crinkling as he tried to hide his face away from the
light in what he thought was a borrowed pillow.  Huffing softly, he shifted,
eyes snapping open as he felt a leg twitch next to his, reeling back as he
noticed the heart beat under his ear, an arm draped haphazardly over his
shoulder.  Sitting up, a little distressed, he looked over at his previous
bedding -- read: Dean’s torso -- and swallowed thickly, unable to deny the warm
feeling that had settled into his gut, almost missing the warmth of his body.
He turned sharply, alerted to the sound of the fridge opening, only to realise
it was only Sam, relaxing again.  Getting off the couch as carefully as he
could, he stretched out, spine curving as bones popped and crackled, rolling
his shoulders as he yawned softly.
Groaning in his sleep, well-rested and content, Dean stretched over the new
expanse offered to him on the couch, snuffling softly.  Letting out a small
hum, he blinked his eyes open slowly, breathing in deep-- completely relaxed in
his woken bliss.  His gaze tracked over Castiel, admiring as he watched his
body elongate, and then he realized just what he was doing and started faintly
as he sat up straighter on the couch.
“Jesus, what time is it?”
His breathing caught when Dean spoke, turning to face him, finding the way his
hair stuck up endearing though he knew his probably looked no better.  Flexing
his hands, Castiel looked at the digital readout on the DVD player, eyes
widening as he noticed the time.  “Eleven forty.”  He replied, scratching the
back of his head as the fog of sleep began to fade.
Scrambling, Dean wrestled his way off of the couch, limbs still heavy from
slumber as he managed to find his way to his feet.  “Sam?!”
“In here!”  His brother poked his head out into the kitchen entry, brow raising
at Dean in silent judgement.  “How late did you stay up last night?”
Glancing Castiel’s way, he gave his guest a searching look, not really sure
when either of them had fallen asleep.  “Late.”
“Well obviously,” Sam rolled his eyes, huffing softly.  “Are you gonna make
brunch?”
“Uh, yeah,” he swallowed, voice slightly raspy, body still waking as he brushed
by Castiel; normally, all of the physical contact would have made him
uncomfortable, but there was something that warmed in him each time they
touched that left him irrationally happy.  “What are you craving?”
“French toast,” Sam said immediately.  “With strawberries on top.”
“Demanding today, aren’t we?”
“Stop being a jerk and just make them.  Please?”
“Sure thing, bitch.”  He muttered fondly, ruffling his hair as he joined him in
the kitchen, noting Castiel trailing along not far behind him.  “Any special
requests Prince Charming?”
Cas watched the interaction with interest, head swiveling as they passed
banter, a small smile curling his lips.  Jolting a little as Dean brushed past,
unable to shake the warmth that was left in his wake, he was almost embarrassed
at how fast he responded to the nickname, turning to him almost immediately.
“Coffee, if you have it.”
“I’ll brew some up,” he smiled, moving over to the ancient looking machine
tucked away in the corner of the countertop, tugging it out and getting it
ready in easy, familiar movements.  “Sugar or cream with it?”
Cas frowned at the ancient device, a little concerned as to its effectiveness.
“Just black.”
“Can I have some?”  Sam chirped as he pulled himself up onto the counter, and
Dean smacked him upside the head lightly, but didn’t tell him to get down. 
“No,” he muttered, smiling faintly as it sputtered to life; they’d had this one
for years, and if it wasn’t broken, why replace it.  “I don’t need you running
around here hyped up on caffeine.”
“But I’m not gonna be around here,” he replied instantly, grinning from ear to
ear.  “I’m going to the rollerskating rink with Andy, remember?  His mom is
taking us.”
“No coffee.”
“Dean--”
“No,” he gave him a dry look, and Sam huffed, biting into his apple petulantly.
Castiel stifled a chuckle, leaning casually against the bench top as he watched
their interaction, a little jealous of the how close the brothers were.  “My
brother once drank twelve cups of coffee in less than an hour and spent the
rest of the day convinced he was the Anti-Christ.  Probably best not to start
now.”
Pouting, Sam glared down at his bare feet, toes wiggling slightly.  “Not fair. 
You two ganging up on me.  I don’t like him anymore, Dean, get rid of him.”
“Shut up, you dork.”  Dean rolled his eyes, nudging into him as he opened up a
cabinet to pull down a bowl.  “For being rude to our guest, you get to beat the
eggs.”
Sighing, Sam pushed off of the counter, taking the bowl offered and moving over
to the fridge.  “Sorry, Cas.  I like you.  I just don’t like when mom and dad
tag team up on me.”
Castiel shrugged off the attempt to evict him with a secretive smile and a soft
chuckle, watching the interaction with mild interest.  His brow abruptly
furrowed at the jibe, sending a half hearted glare Sam’s way.  “Y’know what
happened to the last person that called me a housewife, boy?”  He asked, no
real threat to his words.  “I stood a clothes mannequin at the foot of their
bed in the middle of the night.  The screams were memorable.”
Sam gaped at him for a moment, fear in his gaze, and he inched back from the
older man with a sudden respect and wariness.  “If-- If it makes it any better,
I was calling my brother the housewife.  Not you.”
“Hey!”
“You’re the one who does all the mom stuff,” he shrugged, turning back to the
fridge.
“Do you want french toast, or not?” He snapped, not really annoyed, but
bemused.  “Cooking isn’t ‘mom stuff,’ you brat.”
Nodding his satisfaction, Castiel offered a Sam a faint smile, chuckling softly
at Dean’s indignation.  “He’d look better that me in an apron anyway.”  He
smirked, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he looked at Dean. 
Returning the glance Castiel gave him with a faintly sly one of his own, he
fished out a pan from one of the cabinets below, and grinned ruefully.  “You’re
damn right I would.”
For a moment, Cas was struck with a wonderful mental image of exactly what that
would look like, all toned muscle and scrappy cloth and-- whoa, okay not now. 
Casting a less than discreet glance downwards, he shifted awkwardly against the
bench.  Stupid hormones.
Moving over to the stove top, Dean grabbed a loaf of bread, pulling out a few
pieces as Sam haphazardly started cracking eggs into the bowl he had.  “He only
wears the apron when he bakes pie.  It’s tradition.”
“Secret tradition-- which, hey, I guess not so much anymore, right?”  Dean
groused, moving to show his brother how to properly open an egg as he glanced
over at Castiel, winking playfully.  “Looks like I’m going to have to kill you
like the last one and bury you in the backyard.  Hope you understand.”
The fact that there actually was an apron only made his situation that much
worse, eyes bugging for a second as he got a hold of himself, reigning in his
wandering imagination before it got downright X-rated.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”  He said, almost absent.  “Besides, I’m
much too difficult to kill, be better to leave me be.”
“Is that so?”  Dean quipped, handing Sam a whisk as he moved over to another
cabinet, pulling down spices and a tub of sugar as his brother beat the eggs
into a mix.  “And some milk to that, Sammy.” 
Cas hummed softly, focusing back on the conversation.  “I think I could stop
you if you tried, though if your brother was in on it too, I might have a
little difficulty.”
“He is a spry little bastard,” he commented fondly, pushing against Sam’s side,
and his brother had the decency to blush.  “Fast learner too.  Top of his
class.”
Nodding evenly, he smiled slightly, finding the affection between them
endearing.  “Well, at least I won’t have to tutor him too.”
“At least,” he grinned and let Sam excuse himself after he’d gotten his eggs
approved from the master chef, leaving Dean and Cas alone in the kitchen as the
younger of the two stared after his brother wistfully.  “He’s gonna do
something great.”
“So will you.”  Cas said, no tease in his voice, having complete faith in
Dean’s ability to achieve in life.
“Yeah.  Right.”  He huffed, turning his attention to the prep he needed to do,
not believing for an instant that he was going anywhere but right where he
was.  Looking after Sammy until he was old enough to do it himself, until he
was old enough to realize that Dean was dead weight.  Until he was left behind
in the dust and the dirt, right where he was supposed to be.  “Dean Winchester,
next President of the United States.  Unlikely, Cas.”
“Have you seen some of the politicians recently?  Not exactly the brightest
crayons in the box.”  Castiel countered, sensing doubt in him.  “You’ll do just
fine.  Trust me.”  He said, quieter than he usually might.
“You have far more faith in me than anyone else, Cas.”  He laughed, but it
wasn’t amused.  If anything, it was a hollow sounding thing, flat and almost
bitter.  “Why is that?”
“Someone has to.”  He said, almost automatically, taken aback by the loyalty
that seemed to come from nowhere once he processed what he’d said.
The warmth that tried to well up in him was quickly stamped down as he began
soaking pieces of bread in his egg mixture, fishing them out and sprinkling
sugar and cinnamon and nutmeg over the tops before he set them in his frying
pan on the stove.  “You picked the wrong horse to bet on, man.  Believe me, I’m
not your guy.  You should find someone else because, let’s face it, I’m just
gonna disappoint you.”
“I don’t gamble.”  Cas said evenly, unwavering faith in Dean despite his
beliefs.  “I pursue things that will succeed.  I know you’ll do well, even if
you don’t.”  He added, a quiet solemness to his tone.
“Cas,” his voice broke, and he shook his head, pushing the bread around with
his spatula as it began cooking through, shoulders slumping forward and inward,
as if trying to make himself as small as he felt.  “I really don’t want you to
be another person who ends up disenchanted and disappointed with me.  I really
don’t.”
Shifting for a moment, Castiel reached out and put a hand on his shoulder,
wanting to take away the break of his voice.  “Don’t worry, I won’t be.  Trust
me.”
“You don’t-- Cas, you don’t know that.”  He stated, looking over at him,
expression sad even as he leaned into the gentle touch.  “You can’t say that
because you don’t know that it’s true.”
“But I believe it is.”  He said quietly, half tempted to pull Dean into a hug.
“Blind faith,” Dean huffed, shaking his head, smiling fondly.  “Do you believe
in anyone so freely?”
“Not anyone.  They have to earn it first.”  He said, taking his hand away after
a brief squeeze.
Dean instantly missed the feeling of warmth through his shirt.  The comfortable
feeling of Castiel’s hand on him.  The way it seemed to ground him. 
Curiously, he tilted his head.  “And I’ve earned it?”
Castiel nodded, looking over at him with an unwavering gaze.  “I haven’t
ransacked your home yet, have I?”  He said flatly, attempting to lighten the
mood a little.
“Oh, my god.”  Dean barked out a laugh; it took him by surprise, and he ended
up pressing his forehead to Castiel’s shoulder, one hand loose around his wrist
as he laughed until tears threatened to spill from his eyes.  Almost hysteric,
but mostly amused and caught off guard by this man who he’d never thought he
would allow in his home like this, who he’d never dreamed of opening up to, who
had somehow wormed his way under Dean’s skin and into a part of his heart over
the last few weeks.  By this man who saw Dean’s insecurities as plain as day,
and saw past them.  By this man who knew Dean well enough in the little time
they’d been with one another to know when to change the subject. 
“Holy shit,” he chuckled, voice airy with his bemusement.  “You did notjust say
ransacked.  You are not a pirate, Cas-- unless you were planning on ravaging me
at some point, which you have yet to do.”
There was a hand around his wrist again with, bringing that strange warmth with
it, and without warning, a head against his shoulder.  It took Castiel a moment
to figure out what was so funny, chuckling at an increasing volume, spurred on
only by Dean’s laughter.  He’d have to find ways to get Dean laughing more
often; it was a beautiful sound.
“What’s wrong with ransacked?”  He asked, head tilting a little in question,
almost bird like.  “And ravaging is by no means off the table.”  He added,
curiosity quickly shifting to something more lecherous, over exaggerated to the
point of tease.
Grinning, he glanced up, fingers tightening briefly, and he felt a flutter rush
through him.  “You couldn't ravage me if you tried.”
"Reckon I could."  Cas said, confident in his ability to charm.
“Oh, you reckon?”  He quipped, with an awful twang, turning away so that he
could flip his french toast over so it wouldn't burn.  “I dunno, Cas.  I don't
think you've got it in you to ravage me.  How would you even go about doing
it?”
Leaning back against the bench, Castiel gave a slight shrug, comfortable enough
with Dean to speak of his personal affairs.  "Eighty percent of my income
depends on my ability to charm.  You have no idea what you're dealing with
here."
"Oh, I don't?"  He smiled, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his gaze. 
"What am I dealing with then?  Care to give me an example?"
Regarding him evenly, Castiel smirked a little, covering the fears that came
with revealing his occupation.  "I can take a man’s wrist watch without him
noticing, slip a lady’s necklace right from under her nose and she won't even
bat an eyelid.  I know how to play people, and I know how to keep them
distracted."
Setting another piece of bread into the pan as he set the cooked one on a
plate, Dean turned more fully to Castiel, keenly interested.  "Show me."
Cas cleared his throat a little awkwardly, looking away from him.  "I don't
think you'd enjoy my methods."  He said, suddenly nervous.  There was no way he
could do that to Dean, not that close.  Not without things getting messy.
"Come on, Cas."  He chuckled, nudging at his foot playfully.  "Show me."
Swallowing thickly, he nodded, moving to stand before him.  This was only a
demonstration, just another role to play, no feeling attached, not for Dean. 
"Fair warning, I tend to kiss my targets."  He said, a nervous smile on his
face as he leant in a little closer.  "I'll need something to take.  A watch,
or a wallet. Something on your person."  He added, voice dropping to a low
purr, slipping into character.
"Um...  Okay."  Dean's stomach clenched, and he glanced around for a moment,
catching sight of where he'd set his wallet on the table the night before. 
Taking it, he tucked it away in his back pocket, and then rubbed his palms
against the leg of his jeans as he settled back against the counter.  "Have at
it."
"Generally, they're a little drunk-- makes things easier for me," Cas told him,
running the tips of his fingers along the inside of Dean's wrist, voice
hypnotic as he looked up at him with a charming little smirk that spoke of
practice.  "And I have to be careful, when I take a target.  More than once
I've been punched in the face for getting a little too friendly with the male
customers."  He said, trailing a hand over Dean's hip, slow and careful,
gauging his reaction in order to make his next move, reading every inch of his
body like an open book. 
Tensing briefly, Dean's hands gripped at the edge of the counter as fingers
drifted over him in the ghost of a touch.  After a moment, he reminded himself
to relax, that it was just a demonstration of sorts, and he felt himself ease
into his hand with a soft huff.  The heat bounced between them, and he let his
gaze flutter down over him before working back up to meet his gaze.  Grinning
wryly, a nervous rush was bit back, and he canted his head ever so slightly. 
"I promise not to punch you."
He could feel Dean relax, and he let an open palm run up his rib cage to rest
over his left pectoral, caging him in against the bench, lingering close around
his lips, letting anticipation rise as he slipped a thigh between his legs. 
"That's kind of you."  He purred, looking at him, gaze heated as he leant in
that little bit further, brushing their lips together, steadfastly squashing
the little thrill his heart gave.  This was only a demonstration after all.
Gasping faintly, his lips parted, and he froze for an instant before he was
leaning in that meager amount of space to slant his mouth under Castiel's-
- only to be caught up short by Sam's shout from the living room.
"Dean!  Are you burning something?"
"Shit," he hissed out a cursed, pulling from the hands that had been pinning
him in so that he could flip the bread over.  It was charred on one side, and
he sighed heavily, blush creeping up the back of his neck as he tossed the
ruined food into the trash and started a new one. 
Castiel jerked back abruptly, letting Dean go as Sam called, ruining the bubble
he'd placed them in.  Once Dean wasn't looking, his shoulders sagged, unable to
kill the disappointment welling up inside.  He shouldn't have agreed to that,
getting far too close and only aggravating what was already a rapidly growing
affection and an already present attraction.  Watching as Dean trashed the
burnt food, a faint smirk pulled his lips as practised fingers darted out and
slid his wallet from within Dean's back pocket, hoping it might hide the flush
on his cheeks.
Dean waited until after he'd soaked a new third piece and got it on the frying
pan before he turned his attentions back to Castiel.  Glancing over at him, he
offered up a guilty smile, "Sorry about that.  Probably shouldn't have done
that in the middle of cooking breakfast.  If you want, you can always try and
steal from me later."
Castiel gave a shrug, veiling the yearning that he felt, wanting to keep going
without the incentive of stealing a wallet, wanting to be able to kiss him
simply because he could.  Tossing the stolen wallet between his hands, he cast
a smug look Dean's way.
"Don't worry, I did just fine then."
"How did you--?"  He blinked, an awed smile spreading over his face as he
watched him handle his wallet, and he checked his pocket just in case.  "You're
just full of all kinds of tricks, aren't you, Cas?  When did you even manage
that?"
"When you tossed out the burnt toast."  He replied, holding the wallet out for
him to take back.  "Didn't even notice did you?  All it takes is a little
distraction, and people just don't notice me taking a wallet, or a watch."
"Or a kiss," he supplied, glancing back down at the stove top, and flipping the
bread over in his pan.  There was a spark of something in him.  Something a lot
like desperation, and he found himself wishing he'd had enough time to let
Castiel distract him back against the edge of the counter; he could still feel
the echoes of his hands, warm along his hip and his side and his chest, and the
spots tingled faintly with longing.  "So you're a pickpocket.  A really good
pickpocket."
"Haven't been caught yet."  He replied, a little proud despite the less than
legal topic.  "Jobs are hard to come by.  My brother taught me when I was
younger, so I figured why not use the skill."
“It's very impressive,” he replied, smiling over his shoulder at him.  “Can't
say it's exactly moral, but I've stolen my share of things when needed. 
Question is-- can you put it back without me noticing?'
"Now that you know I've got it, unlikely, but yes.  I always put wallets back
after taking a few notes."  He replied, a little ashamed when Dean mentioned
the morality of it.
“I’m sure you’ll figure out the perfect time to put it back without me
noticing,” he said, Especially considering howdistractingI find you. Finishing
off breakfast with a flourish of sugar, he plated the toast and called briefly
for his little brother to join them or miss out. 
“Don’t worry, I’ll find a way.”  Cas told him, stowing the wallet in his pocket
for later return.  “It’s a lot easier on drunks.”  He added, a little absent,
drumming his fingers nervously against the table top.  “Hey, uh.  Dean.  You
won’t tell anyone about that, right?  I mean, people know I steal stuff, but
I’d rather not get arrested.”
“You steal stuff?”  Sam asked as he walked in, immediately going for a plate
and stuffing his mouth with a bite that was far too big.  Dean rolled his eyes
and was tempted to smack him upside the head again.  “Thas kinna cool.  Dean
use’a steal sff.”
“Your mouth.  It’s full.  What happened to manners, Sammy?”
The thirteen year old shrugged nonchalantly, swallowing only to stuff another
bite into his mouth.
Turning his attention back to Cas, he smiled, handing him his own breakfast as
he leaned back against the counter with his plate.  “Of course I won’t say
anything, Cas.  Anything you tell me is between us.  I kinda figured that was a
given after what happened at your brother’s bar.”
“What happened at his brother’s bar?”  Sam asked insistently, and Dean nudged
him.
“Don’t you have cartoons you should be watching?  Scram, tiny tot.” 
“Killjoy.”
“Only yours.”
Sam left with a huff, and Dean smiled.  “What’s said in the Winchester house,
stays in the Winchester house.  Don’t worry about it, okay?”
Briefly, Castiel tensed as Sam spoke, wincing at his own bad timing.  The fewer
people that knew his pattern of operation, the better.  Nodding gratefully, he
offered a slight smile.  “What we do for money, huh?”  He mumbled, giving a
slightly hollow chuckle.
“Right?”  Dean huffed out a chuckle of his own, chewing down a bit of his
breakfast before continuing.  “If only prostitution wasn’t illegal.  I could
make a mint.”
Cas snorted softly, rolling his eyes as he reached  for a plate, biting into
his toast.  It was better than he expected.  “Alternatively, you could start a
cafe.”  He said around a mouthful.
“Yeah?”  Dean blushed faintly.  “I’ll have to take that into consideration.  As
long as you aren’t there making me burn the french toast.”
Castiel chuckled quietly into his toast, glancing over at him. “No, I’ll just
roll your patrons as they leave.”
“I’ll split the tips if you split the steal,” he hummed, grinning at him.  “And
you could always distract me after I’m done cooking.”
Cas flushed a little, suddenly very interested in his breakfast, trying to mask
the little thrill his heart gave at the idea.
“Or, you know, not.”  Dean said, awkward as he shuffled his feet, feeling like
maybe he’d pushed a little too far.  “If you’re really not into the whole
pressing me back against the countertop thing.”
“You’d, ah.  You’d be surprised.”  He mumbled, shoulders hunching as though he
was trying to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks.  He could remember the
fleeting, but oh so satisfying brush of their lips, just as perfect as he’d
imagined.
“Would I?”  Peering up at him through thick lashes, Dean tilted his head
inquisitively, feeling a rush of want flood through him like water spilling
through a burst dam.  “Does that mean you are into it?”
For a moment, Castiel blanked out, unable to think of a reasonable answer that
didn’t give his affections  away.  Heart rate rising, he dared to look over at
Dean, seeing something suspiciously akin to desire in his eyes-- though it
couldn't be.  Taking a chance, he nodded stiffly.
“A little.  Yeah.”
Swallowing thickly, Dean had to suppress a shiver of delight, feeling a thrum
of satisfaction reverberate through him.  “Good,” he muttered, finishing off
his breakfast and setting aside his plate to brush by Castiel as he headed for
the living room.  “Because I am too.”
He had to double take, blinking in disbelief as he heard Dean speak.  There was
no way he meant that right?  Had to be lying.  Biting at his lower lip
nervously, Cas hummed his pleasure, knowing satisfaction when he heard it. 
Maybe Dean did mean it.  Maybe he wasn’t falling alone.
 
***** Be Careful Who You Tell (You’ve Got a Guilty, Filthy Soul) *****
 
Ellen’s place always seemed to be busiest on Saturday and Sunday nights.  The
Saturdays weren’t that surprising-- people liked to get out to eat on weekends,
liked to sit down and have a cold drink, liked to socialize.  Sundays were the
odd part.  More often than not, people tended to stay in on Sundays.  They had
to get ready for the beginning of a new week.  They had to prepare themselves
for nine-to-five shifts and picking up the kids from school and have mediocre
sex with someone they had stopped loving years previous.  It was a day to steel
yourself.
But Ellen’s was busy on Sundays.  An oddity, but a fact.
On occasion, Dean worked at Ellen’s.  When he needed the money to cover
whatever bill John’s welfare wouldn’t take care of or whenever the grill needed
a shift picked up.  He usually was restricted to playing host and bussing
tables, though from time to time he got to wait tables and serve drinks.  The
latter, of course, being rare and far between.  Legally, he wasn’t supposed to
bartend, but Ellen let it slide when she knew that the both of them desperately
needed it-- when she had no one to cover the shift, and when Dean was hurting
for the money-- though she always offered to give him whatever cash was
required to pay off the electric or the water.
Dean wasn’t fond of handouts.
Which was how, on the Sunday after Castiel had stayed the night-- and most of
Saturday, spent dancing around each other, the tension between them so palpable
it was nearly suffocating-- at his house, Dean ended up behind the counter at
Ellen’s.  Though he wasn’t particularly happy dealing with drunks that smelled
too much like his father, he was willing to do it for the tips he earned with a
winning smile and a fast and talented hand for mixing drinks. 
It was nearly midnight when a newcomer sidled up to the bar, a familiar face
that Dean couldn’t quite place; he nearly missed him with his mind on Sam home
alone again, and he was practically kicking himself for not being able to do a
better job for his younger brother.  For not being able to take care of him
like he should be.
 
On a scale of one to his own place --because frankly, Gabriel did run a fine
establishment, even if his own opinion was bias to no end-- The Roadhouse
wasn’t quite up to the standard of that stripper joint in Nevada, but
definitely beat most of the dives around.  Blowing out a soft huff, he leant
against the bar, taking idle interest in the man next to him and his fruitless
attempts to woo the woman perched on a stool, hiding a laugh behind his beer. 
People were so funny sometimes. 
Nights off were infrequent at best; nights off on a Sunday even more so, and
sometimes even he needed some time off, silently thanking Kali for agreeing to
keep things in order for him.  Days off, drinks, and a view were both rare and
never rejected.  Slowly, he tracked the path of the frankly edible bartender,
watching him grin with definite approval.  Somewhere, something in the back of
his mind pinged his features, recognising something though he couldn’t be
bothered to follow it up.
“What can I get for you, sir?”  Dean flashed a charming grin, leaning against
the bar in front of the blond man. 
“Depends, what’s good?”  Gabriel asked, inclining his head a little, the easy
smile on his face hiding something a little predatory.
“Depends,” Dean countered, far too used to playing this part for some of the
more interested patrons, shallow flirting coming to him like a second nature. 
“Are you looking for something sweet or savory?”
Gabriel raised his eyebrows briefly, flicking an interested gaze over him. 
“Sweet.  I think.”  He returned, putting his glass down with a hollow thud. 
“Any recommendations?”
“I can probably think of a few,” he winked, humming as he drummed his fingers
against the hardwood contemplatively before taking his glass away.  “How do you
feel about tequila?”
Gabe nodded once, watching the drum of his fingers and the curl of his lips
with near lecherous intent.
“So, what’s a pretty thing like you doing out here?”  He asked, pulling off the
cheesy line with surprising ease. 
“Exactly what everyone else is doing,” Dean huffed out a faint laugh; working
behind the bar got him hit on, and playing it up tended to earn him good tips,
so he did it despite the fact that quite frequently it made him uncomfortable. 
He worked with ease behind the counter, splashing some of the Herruda into his
shaker before he flipped the bottle and set it aside.  Tricks earned him things
too.  Pouring a mix of apple and watermelon spritzers in, he added a dash of
lime juice and then capped it off and shook it all together.  “Making money. 
Why?  You think a pretty thing like me should be elsewhere?”
“I could name a few places.  Most of them are horizontal, but hey, I’m
flexible.”  He returned, the grin on his face unabashedly interested, leaning
in to watch as the bartender worked, all lean lines and a frankly tantalising
ass that curved just so.
Pouring out his drink into a chilled glass, he set it down in front of him,
plastering on a charming smirk.  “You’re flexible?  Imagine that.  Me too.”
Oh, he liked where this was going.  Gabe liked this a lot; even if that stupid
tingle in the back of his mind kept telling him to back off.  Taking a curious
sip at his drink, Gabriel smirked at him, near identical to his brother’s.
“You’d be surprised, the amount of trouble a couple of bendy people can get
into.”
“And the places they can find trouble in,” Dean said mildly, letting his gaze
drift down over him slowly and then back up. 
Gabriel made a sound of agreement, knocking back his drink as he settled in to
blatantly flirt with the bartender.  “But if you’re quiet enough about it, they
won’t find us.”
“See?  That’s where we’re gonna have a problem,” he sighed, mockingly forlorn
as he leaned against the edge of the bar, unneeded by any other patrons and
able to give this man the attention he seemed to want.  “I’m very vocal.”
“Then I guess we’ll have to lock the door.”  Gabriel countered, looking over at
him, shifting a little in his seat.  He could feel the buzz between them,
though that may have been the tequila.  “Or maybe we could go back to my
place.”  He added, leaning in a little closer.  “What time do you finish?”
“That,” Dean chortled, though there was a faint spike of panic that tugged at
his gut, hidden beneath his smile.  “is going to cost extra.  Besides, I’m sure
you don’t want to hang around for that long anyways.”
“I can be a very patient man.”  He replied, “and money is no object.”  Gabe
added, a tiny white lie considering his dwindling bank balance.  “So, you got a
name, sweetheart, or do I get to call you whatever I want?”
“Patience is an admirable virtue.  Especially behind closed doors.  Patient
between the sheets too?”  He asked, voice soft and low, and his lips curled
into a slow grin.  “As for my name, you can call me whatever you like, but most
call me Dean.”
“Depends on who I’m dealing with.  For you, probably.”  He said, enjoying the
curl of Dean’s lips.  The stupid niggle was back again, alarm bells quashed by
his libido.  “Dean...  I like that.  Easy to scream.
“Another thing we have in common,” he replied, moving to top his drink off. 
“And what name would I be screaming?”
“Gabe.”  He replied, nodding his thanks as his drink was filled again, debating
whether to offer a hand before deciding that one generally didn’t shake hands
with potential bedmates.
“Pleasure to meet you, Gabe.”  Dean bowed his head slightly, wondering just how
far he should let this go.  “How’s your drink?”
“Just fine.”  Gabriel replied, though he wasn’t really talking about the drink,
much more interested in the man serving it.
“Good to hear.”  There was that slow curl of his lips again, smile far too
inviting to be fair.  “Anything else I can do for you?”
Gabriel shivered a little, finding that smile of his far too attractive to be
real, let alone directed his way.  “I could name a few things.”  He purred,
wondering if those lips were as good as they looked.
“Oh, I’m sure you could.”  Dean laughed softly.  “And I’m betting not all of
them are horizontal.”
He took a moment to think it over, flicking through the dozen or so ideas that
would no doubt fuel his less than spectacular love life --read: left hand-- for
a good week.  “No, not all of them.  But I reckon you’d be used to kneeling.”
Dean’s breath caught, and his eyes widened minutely at Gabe’s words, and a
nervousness filled him that he had to squash back down.  “I’ve been on my knees
once or twice--”
“Dean Henry Winchester!”  Ellen’s voice rang out sharp as she sidled up to the
bar, gaze scolding; Dean tried not to wince.  “What in the hell are you still
doing on shift?  You’ve got class in the morning-- you were supposed to be off
an hour ago.”
“Amy’s late, Ellen.”  He supplied, looking vaguely guilty.
“That girl,” she huffed, giving him a pointed look.  “I’m gonna call her, and
when I get back, you better clock off and get home.  I don’t wanna hear
anything about you falling asleep at your desk.”
“You got it, Ellen.”  Dean replied, nodding as she turned to walk to the back
where her office was.  After a moment, he turned his gaze on Gabe, offering up
a smile.  “Sorry about that.”
Gabriel nearly swallowed his own tongue, sputtering a little as Dean spoke to
what he assumed was the owner.  He recognised that name because dammit if this
wasn’t the guy that had Cas gushing like a little girl.
“Winchester...  Like, swim team Dean?”  He asked, the mood he’d set dropping
like a stone, an oddly dirty feeling settling over him.  He was just a kid; a
very hot kid, but still a kid.  “Fuck-- No way.  What the hell are you doing
here?  Actually... nevermind.  Let’s just forget about this, huh?”
Brow furrowing, Dean tilted his head, and there was a vice of fear gripping his
heart like icy fingers.  “You know me?”
“My brother knows you.”  He replied, scrambling off his seat, rubbing at the
back of his neck awkwardly.  “Castiel...  He uh, tutors you or something.  Just
don’t tell Cassie, okay, he’ll gut me.”  Gabriel said, knowing his baby brother
was both incredible protective, and a little grabby with his things.
“Gabriel?”  He asked, voice taking on an embarrassingly high pitch as he stared
over at him with wide eyes, recognition dawning as he realized this was the man
who had dealt with his drunken father on more than one occasion.  That this was
Castiel’s older brother who Dean had been shamelessly flirting with in order to
get a better tip. 
“One and only.”  Gabe mumbled, leafing through his wallet and throwing down a
fifty.  “Keep the change, don’t tell Cas.”  He added, withdrawing with his
proverbial tail between his legs.  So much for a relaxing evening out.
===============================================================================
 
The next day was, more or less, stressful for Dean.  One of the reasons,
naturally, being the test results he was waiting for in his pre-calc class that
would determine whether or not he could start playing sports again.  The other
being the abundantly awkward conversation he'd had with Castiel's brother the
night previous-- and the absolute guilt and mortification he felt for having it
happen at all.  Which was ridiculous because, aside from a few possibly
intimate touches and looks and conversations, Castiel and him were just
friends.
And as much as he hated it, it was more than likely to stay that way.
So, when Dean saw Cas in the hall just before lunch, he pretended not to notice
him and prayed that the Castiel would do the same.
 
Apart from an unusually stammering Gabriel, Cas' Sunday had been rather
uneventful, though he did wake up oddly warm, memory of soft lips on his
lingering in his sleep addled mind as it had the night previous, and
undoubtedly would the coming evening.  A couple weeks ago, after they’d gone
out to the lake together, he'd taken to watching over Dean's locker between
classes hoping to catch him; though every time he turned up, Cas managed to
find an excuse not to talk to him, just observe less than discreetly from
across the hall.
A smile lit up his face when Dean noticed him, halfway towards him when he
noticed the tension, shoulders dropping in disappointment.  He knew when he was
being ignored.  Lingering for a moment, Castiel merged back into the crowds,
the usual satisfaction that came with people parting ways for him not reaching
him like it normally did.  Maybe he did push things a little too far before.
Letting his head thud heavily against his locker, Dean heaved a long sigh, eyes
closing as Castiel walked down the hall.  He felt like a complete prick.
"What's got your panties in a twist?"  Charlie chirped, far too upbeat for the
way Dean was feeling, and he leveled a half-hearted glare her way as she leaned
against the metal next to him.  "And I mean that metaphorically, dear.  Unless
you are wearing panties to school again."
Dean went red in an instant, looking around the hall fervently, and finding no
one paying the two of them any mind.  "Would you shut up?  That was one time
because Rhonda told me too."
"And you'd do anything Rhonda Hurley told you," she said snidely, plucking at
his shirt in tease; they were nearly matching, he and Charlie, both adorning
superhero shirts-- her's being Captain America and Dean's Iron Man.
"She was my girlfriend, Charlie."  He huffed, jerking open his locker door with
a bit more force than necessary.  "Myfirst girlfriend.  I was a Freshman, what
did you expect?"
Charlie laughed,  "For you not to like them.  Imagine my surprise when I found
out you did."
Dean had to resist the urge to squirm, placing his books in and pulling his
lunch out.  He couldn't afford school lunches, so he packed his and Sam's every
morning.  Snapping the door shut, he moved down the hall, heading for the
cafeteria with Charlie on his arm.
"Not but seriously, dude."  She nudged into his side, and he rolled his eyes
briefly, trying and failing not to smile.  "What's up?  End of the world as we
know it?  Did you fail that test?"
"No and don't know yet.  The suspense is kind of murdering my soul."
"Then what is it--?"
Charlie was cut off by Meg as she pressed herself along Dean's other side,
grinning slyly as she lead them through the double doors of the lunch room. 
"Dean-o, here, is avoiding his boyfriend."
"What are you even--?"
"Don't think I haven't noticed or talked to Garth about it," Meg raised an
eyebrow, giving him a dull, dry look.  "You've gotten real cozy with Castiel
Novak recently."
They spoke over a cacophony of noise; voices and laughter spilling out and
drowning out everything to a dull hum.  Their school colors-- green and black-
- painted the walls, and banners of awards they had won hung from the rafters
for grades and athletics.  Tables scattered through the room, large enough to
accept most of the student body; those that couldn’t fit were forced out onto
bench seats and the cooling days of fall.  Dean returned waves casually,
awkwardly, to those who saw him; some of the soccer team, the swim team, and a
few from the sparse bit of clubs he’d joined at the beginning of the year.
It wasn’t odd for so many people to know him.  To recognize him.  He wasn’t
popular, not by a long shot, but people knew him.  From his achievements on the
field and in the pool, and his supposed conquests.  Being so pretty had its
downfalls sometimes.
"He's my tutor, you guys know that.  And he just so happens to be a pretty cool
guy.  So we're hanging out, it's no big deal."  Dean huffed, jaw aching from
the forced smile he had on his face, and his eyes widened slightly when he
found himself being lead over to an almost vacant table-- the only other person
there being the topic at hand.
Charlie grinned.  "Then why are you all tense, Dean?"
"I'm not--" he cut himself off, coming to a slow stop in front of Castiel, and
offering up a weak smile-- a blush managed to find it's way onto his face, both
from his friends' badgering and from memories of the inappropriate conversation
he'd had with this man's brother the night before.  "Uh, hey, Cas."
Castiel wasn't expecting to have any company, let alone Dean's, hiding the
speed of his heart beat, and the goofy smile that threatened to break through. 
Briefly, he looked over at Meg, offering a cordial nod to her. Looking up at
Dean, a small smile curved his lips.
"Hello, Dean."  He said evenly.
"Um," he cleared his throat, moving a touch closer.  "Mind if we sit with you?"
Eying off Dean's companions a little warily, Castiel nodded, shifting so they
could sit.  If Dean trusted them, then they must be good people.  "Not at all."
Swallowing thickly, Dean watched as Charlie and Meg were quick to settle down
at the table, and he did so too.  Sitting across from him, he gave a soft smile
Castiel's way, hesitantly nudging at his foot in question underneath the
tabletop-- making sure that they were okay.  The insistent blush wouldn't leave
his features, and he brushed off Charlie's teasing touch as she reached for
him.
"You okay there, Dean?  Running a fever or anything?"  She smiled, and he
rolled his eyes.  "You've been flush since we got in here."
"I'm fine," he insisted, grumbling under his breath as he pulled out his lunch,
and Meg was decent enough to hide her laughter behind a hand.
Castiel had to hide his smile when Dean nudged a his foot, giving a faint nod
his way.  Everything was fine, even if Dean did look a little nervous.  He
chuckled faintly, lips quirking up in the fleeting grin, the kind that
generally had people eating out of his hands. "Been running a fever for a few
weeks if my observations are correct."
"Oh?"  Meg perked up, avid interest, glancing over at Dean with a what could be
mistaken as a cruel smirk if he didn't know her so well.  "Little hot under the
collar there, Dean-o?"
Dean grimaced and kicked her shin, making her wince and bark out a laugh.  "I'm
perfectly fine-- I don't get sick."
"Jesus Christ," Charlie huffed, but she was smiling as she nudged into his
side.  "Not this again."
"Not what again?"  Garth's mild twang cut in as he wedged his way between Meg
and Dean. 
"The health conversation."  Meg and Charlie said at once, and Garth shook his
head ruefully.
"Nearly passed out last year during that home meet.  Fever of a hundred an'
three, Dean."  Garth supplied, stuffing a bite of pizza into his mouth before
continuing.  "That's called being sick, man."
Castiel listened with interest as Dean's friends spoke, the way they all worked
in near perfect sync was intriguing to watch even if he was a little jealous. 
When Garth spoke, a frown clouded his features, nudging at Dean's calf in
gentle reprimand.  "How did you not notice?"
"I wasn't--"
"Oh, he noticed."  Garth grinned, looping an arm around his neck and ruffling
his hair.  "He just didn't say a goddamn thing, the lunatic."
"I was fine," Dean muttered, ducking out from under his arm as he peeled open
his Tupperware full of pasta he'd made from the night previous.  "It wasn't a
big deal."
"And this is what we deal with," Charlie gave a dramatic little sigh, looking
over at Castiel with a bright smile.  "You should hear some of the other
stories-- like that time he had a cough so bad it nearly knocked him over and
he was trying to take care of Sam, who had the flu, and he ended up--"
"Aaand we're done talking about my supposed illnesses."  He said with a faint
sigh, foot twitching next to Castiel's beneath the table as he nudged it again;
he dragged the toe of his shoe along the line of his ankle tentatively. 
"Cas, you've met Garth.  This is Meg and Charlie."
Sensing Dean wanted a change of subject, Castiel jumped at the opportunity to
do so, not wanting to make him anymore uncomfortable.  Turning his attention
back to Dean's friends, he bowed his head in greeting.  "I know Meg," he said
flatly, no bite to his words, turning to the red head beside Dean. 
"And you must be Charlie."  He said, not offering a hand, though he looked over
her, gaze unwavering, as though taking her apart and analysing the pieces.
"And you must be Cas," she countered with a smile, flicking her hair over her
shoulder, preening under his knowing tone and figuring she must be spoken of
often.  "Nice to finally speak to you instead of ogling you and your leather
jacket from afar."
"You know Meg?"  Dean asked curiously, feeling the faintest flare of jealousy
swell in him. 
The woman in question gave a sultry laugh, flashing Castiel a small smirk. 
"Oh, he knows me."
Finding Charlie's preening amusing, he offered a slight grin, huffing out a
soft laugh before turning to Dean, giving a slight shrug.  "Quite well."  He
agreed, sharing Meg's smirk, confident that enough time had passed for any
awkwardness between them to have vanished.  "We dated for a little while."  He
explained upon seeing Dean's expectant look.
"Yeah?"  Dean swallowed down the bitter taste on his tongue with a bite of
food, envy burning in his gut.  "And how did that go?  Any dark, painful
secrets you two would like to digress?"
He shrugged slightly, looking over at Meg briefly, seeing no resistance to
Dean's prodding.  "I wouldn't say painful....  Well, not unintentionally at
least."  He said, a low tone to his voice as he remembered, almost fond despite
the graphic nature of the memories.  "Dark could be the appropriate word
though."
Meg grinned wryly, resting her chin in a hand, and she gave Dean a knowing
wink.  "If you want, I can give you the details later, Dean-o.  I'm sure you'd
be interested in hearing some of them."
"I'm fine, thanks."  He muttered, picking at his noodles, gaze cast down as he
slid his feet back from where he'd been resting them alongside Castiel's. 
"Though if Charlie's into that, I'm sure she'd like to hear some."
"Definitely," Charlie quipped, giving her girlfriend a look that was both
interest and warning.  "In fact, I'd say we could talk about it soon.  Like,
right after school.  Privately.  Where I can be mad at you."
"Hush," Meg's smiled softened with affection.  "You know I've only got eyes for
you.  And hands.  And lips--"
"And some of us are eatin', ladies."  Garth grunted.  "Save the intimacies for
later.  I'd still like to respect ya in the mornin'."
Castiel squinted at them for a moment, realisation dawning with a soft smile,
oddly comfortable with Meg, though not in the way he was with Dean.
"Congratulations."  He said, gaze flicking back to Dean, nudging at his foot
gently, expression softening slightly, the usual guard he wore slipping for a
fraction of a second.
"Thanks, Clarence."  Meg replied, but she was so focused on the way Charlie was
smiling that she didn't notice his absent tone.
Dean glanced back up, noting his expression, and he nudged back.  He dragged
his foot-- clad in a pair of worn All Stars-- up his calf slowly, gently, just
barely touching him.  Grateful that he was already blushing because he knew he
would be turning a pink color when he realized that they were practically play
footsie beneath the table.
Castiel kept a surprisingly blank face, only just noting the long lost nickname
that Meg was so fond of.   He never did ask why she called him Clarence,
deeming it of little importance.  A fond smile flickering so briefly it was
only noticeable by those who knew how to read him; he looked over at Dean,
nudging his leg against the foot currently sliding by.
Grinning to himself, Dean glanced down, heel hooking at the back of Castiel's
ankle and urging his foot closer as they continued this little game.  "So how
was the rest of your weekend?"
"The rest?"  Charlie tuned in, stealing some food from in front of Dean.  "Is
that to say you spent part of it together?"
Huffing a soft laugh for seemingly no reason, Castiel flexed his foot, escaping
only to let his foot rest comfortably next to Dean's, deciding boots weren't
the best things to play footsie in.  He shrugged a little at Dean's question in
general neutrality.  "Nothing of importance, though Gabriel was a little weird
on Sunday."
Brushing off Charlie's curious look, he felt all the color drain from his face
at the mention of Castiel's brother, and he shifted uncomfortably.  "Yeah?  How
so?"
He tilted his head as Dean shifted, trying to find the source of his
discomfort.  "He went out and came back a little shaken up is all.  Wouldn't
tell me anything, so I figured he just had a bad beer or something."  He
replied, leaning in a little.  "Are you okay?"
"Fine," he practically squeaked, wincing at his own tone, and even Garth gave
him an odd look.  "I'm good."
"Uh, oh."  Charlie hummed, shaking her head.  "That's his lying face.  Should
we leave?  Is this going to be a private conversation?"
"No, it--"
"Still his lying face," Garth muttered, and they were gathering their things
before he could stop them.  Charlie pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then they
were gone, running off to do their own thing, and Dean wished the world would
open up and swallow him whole when he wanted.
Castiel gave a possessive growl, low in the back of his throat when Charlie
kissed him despite knowing she was currently involved with Meg, a little taken
aback by his actions, having no reason to be possessive.  Turning his
attentions back to Dean, he raised an expectant eyebrow.  "Something wrong?" 
He asked, tone softening.
"Um...  Nothing 'wrong' per se," he muttered, almost wanting to pull his feet
back from where they were tangled with Castiel's under the table.  "Your
brother is an interesting guy.”
Raising an eyebrow in surprise, Castiel canted his head.  "I wasn't aware you'd
met."  He said.  "But yeah, interesting is the word I'd use.  That and
downright annoying.  Where'd you see him?"
"Last night," he admittedly softly.  "At The Roadhouse.  I, uh, work there
sometimes.  He came in, and I was working a shift behind the bar.  Honestly, I
had no clue who he was at first.  Just another customer, right?"
Castiel narrowed his eyes in suspicion.  "What did he do?"  He asked, knowing
Gabriel never just went out for kicks.  Something always broke, or someone got
hit on, or worse, actually hit.
"Nothing really," Dean shrugged, but the blush was back, hinting at what he
wouldn't say.  "Ordered a drink.  Bit of shameless flirting.  Usual for
patrons."
The scowl Cas gave was positively furious, the kind one generally associated
with violence.  Gripping at the table to keep from doing anything too stupid,
he growled softly.  "He did what to you?"
"He didn't do anything to me, Cas."  He scoffed, giving him a look.  "He hit on
me.  And, as I'm sure you know, a bit of...  encouragement tends to earn its
own rewards in the service industry.  But after he found out who I was, he sort
of panicked and got the hell out of there.  Kinda weird, honestly."
"Damn straight he got the fuck out of there."  Castiel grumbled, making a
mental note to have words with his brother later.  Dean was off limits, thank
you very much.
"Yeah, okay.  Point is, it was kinda really awkward."  Dean shrugged, shifting
uncomfortably.  "I just figured I would let you know before I ever met him
again.  You know, if you wanted me to."
Resisting the urge to decide then and there that Gabriel wouldn't be going
anywhere near Dean for the rest of his life, Cas grunted softly, expression
still stormy.  "Don't worry, I think he understand his limits now.  And if he
doesn't, I'll teach him."
"Cas," he huffed, finding him incredibly endearing in that moment.  "Don't
teach him anything.  He didn't do anything wrong.  Besides, he asked me not to
mention it at all.  I'm sort of doing him a disservice right now."
"He'll get over it."  He said, "Just as long as Kali doesn't find out, she'll
tear him to pieces if she does."
Brow quirking up, he grinned.  "Kali?"
Humming, Castiel nodded, trying to think of the best way to describe Gabriel on
and off girlfriend.  "Bar maid...  Sort of has a thing with Gabriel...  I don't
even know anymore, one minute they're dating, the next minute they aren't. 
She's terrifying when she wants to be."
"So the whole taking me home with him thing would have wound up backfiring no
matter what, huh?"   Dean teased, only just realizing what he'd said after it
had spilled over his lips.
"If Kali didn't kill him, I would."  He deadpanned, realising the full extent
of Gabriel's antics.
Clearing his throat again, Dean glanced back down at his half-eaten lunch,
feeling slightly guilty.  There was a small part of him that was all but
purring in satisfaction at the possessive quality Castiel's voice had taken,
but he quashed it easily.  "Well nothing happened aside from a bit of harmless
flirting.  So no need for any dead bodies."
 "No dead bodies."  He agreed, taking a deep breath.
Smiling, small and to himself, he glanced back up at him almost coyly, nudging
at his foot.  "On a hopefully brighter note, I get that test back today.  I'm
kind of freaking out.  Like, a lot."
His expression softened when Dean nudged at his foot again, legs comfortably
resting together.
"You'll do fine.  I know you will."
"If I got a B on it, I'm officially passing all my classes."  Dean muttered,
feeling a stir of excitement.  "Which means I'll get to start playing soccer
again..."  He let the statement settle, let it fall awkwardly between them,
implying that they wouldn't be able to meet up anymore.
It was wonderful news, though Castiel couldn't help but feel his heart drop at
the announcement.  They wouldn't see each other if Dean started playing again;
he wouldn't need a tutor.
"And then you'll be on your way.  It was going to happen eventually."  He said,
falsely pleased.
"Actually," Dean sat up a bit straighter, plastering the best regretful
expression he could muster over his face-- because the lie slipping over his
lips was selfish and greedy, not willing to give up having Castiel to himself
every Monday afternoon.  "You're gonna have to deal with me for a while
longer."
Something like hope lit up his face, the open kind of expression rarely seen on
an otherwise closed off person.  "Really?"  He asked, far too quickly.  "I
mean.  That's strange.  Your grades are high enough."  He added, trying to
rectify his childish hope.
"Safety net,"  he shrugged, but there was a smile on his face because he just
couldn't help himself.    “I thought-- Henriksen thought it would be a good
idea for us to keep meeting Mondays after school.  To make sure I keep them up,
you know?"
Castiel smiled at him, giving a pleased hum at the news.  "I understand.  Can't
let all that hard work go to waste."
"Exactly," he replied, shuffling his food to do it.  "So we're still on for
Monday afternoons.  And more, if you think I need it."
Castiel nodded once, a contented look on his face.  "Monday will do for now." 
He replied.
"Awesome," he grinned.  "So I can let you know how I did today after class. 
Wanna walk to the library together?"
"I'd like that."  He said, enjoying the way Dean grinned, filing the expression
away with the rest of the beautiful things he'd memorised.
===============================================================================
 
 
With as few theatrics as possible, Castiel had busted out of his last class,
deeming it of lesser importance when compared to Dean.  The lingering threat of
his history teacher was waved off, though he knew another visit to Crowley
would probably be on the cards soon, already thinking of ways to get out of his
punishment.  Waiting patiently beside Dean’s locker, his back was pressed to
cold metal as the bell rang out, watching people slowly begin to fill the
halls. 
Regarding the indignant teenager gesturing for him to move away from the locker
he was blocking with an unwavering stare, he moved for them, enjoying the way
they spooked a little when he did.  Sometimes it was better to be feared.
"Cas!"  Dean couldn't stop smiling as he came walking up, paper in hand-- and a
note from Henriksen saying he was back on the team.  Excitement thrummed
through him, and he pressed up close in order to show him the test.  He'd
rushed from his class, wanting to be able to tell Castiel first thing.  “I did
it!”
Turning abruptly when he heard Dean's voice, a smile lit up Castiel's face,
looking at the paper being shown to him, and then back to Dean, pride radiating
from his every feature.  "I knew it."  He grinned, hooking an arm around his
shoulders and squeezing gently.
"Not only did I do it, but I aced it.  Which means," he pressed into his side,
still grinning like a fool.  "I get to start playing sports again.  And that me
and you?  Need to celebrate."
Considering Castiel's generally enigmatic persona, to see him give blatant
affection caused a few disbelieving looks to be exchanged among the passing
crowds; whispering to each other, staring unabashedly as he leant against Dean,
completely oblivious to anything but him as they passed by.
"Drinks are on me. "  Cas smiled, nudging his hip playfully.
Dean’s head fell back as he laughed, one of those genuine smiles spreading over
his face as he hit the paper; he couldn't believe he wasn't failing all of his
classes anymore.  He couldn't believe things were going so well for him.  "On a
school night, Cas?  Really?  I'm appalled."  He replied, tone light and
teasing.  "At least wait until the weekend."
"Nerd."  He retorted, grinning so broadly his nose crinkled, enjoying the smile
on Dean's face.  "Fine, Friday, no excuses, we are going to celebrate a great
victory over the education system!"
"Friday.  Okay."  He looked up at him, breath catching faintly when he noted
how close they were.  Hesitating a moment, he wrapped his arms around him and
pulled him closer as he hugged him, bodies pressed from shoulder to thigh. 
"Thanks, Cas."
Castiel froze for a second, hands clenching at his sides until he finally
kicked his brain into gear and hugged him back, enjoying the warmth of his
body.  "Very welcome."  He mumbled.
Chuckling, almost awkwardly, he pulled from the embrace after a long moment,
taking a slow step back as his face warmed.  Dragging a hand through his hair,
it stood at funny angles, and he grinned over at him lop-lopsidedly.  "So are
we studying today?  Or do you want to do something else?"
They had a small audience by now, a few people who had paused at the row of
lockers across the hall to stare as subtly as they could (which wasn’t very
subtle at all) and most of them people in Cas' year, gawking at the otherwise
cold boy as he grinned.  Nodding, he cleared his throat, tingling faintly with
residual heat, missing the tight clench of arms around him.  "I think you
deserve a day off."
"What do you wanna do then?"  He asked, forcing himself not to step back into
Cas’ space, missing the way he'd smelled-- like fresh rain. 
"What do people generally do when they take time off?"  He asked, finally
noticing the smattering of onlookers, tensing as he glared at them, smile
dropping abruptly.  Watching them disperse, he returned his attentions to Dean,
less jovial now, but still pleased for him.  "We could go out to that lake
again. You could come hustle pool with me...  Though I don't think that counts
as a pastime."
"Nah, I'm not good at pool,"  Dean brushed him off, not wanting to go do
something he used to do to earn a few dollars when Sammy and he needed it.  "We
could go to the lake.  Or we could go be lazy asses, and I could inflict
Fireflyupon you."
"I don't think insects are particularly threatening."  He said, brow furrowing
slightly.  "But it sounds amusing."
“The show, Cas.”  He said, finding the wrinkle between his eyebrows incredibly
endearing.
Realising his mistake, Castiel nodded, "Yeah. That sounds like a plan."
"Okay," he smiled, moving to open his locker up, placing his things into it. 
"My place or yours?  I own it, but I mean, it's on Netflix so if you'd rather
not go to my house we can use that."
"Gabriel probably has a copy.  He watches that kinda stuff all the time."  He
said, a little reluctant to let Dean into the presence of his brother again. 
"Though yours would be easier."
Plucking out what few assignments he would need to work on for that night, he
placed them in his backpack and then slung it over his shoulder, snapping the
metal door shut.  “My place it is, then.  Plus, if Sammy didn't eat them all, I
think we've still got some junk food.”
Castiel nodded, shifting away as Dean closed the locker, a small smile on his
face.  "What's it about anyway?  This ‘Firefly’."
“Adventure,” He grinned, tempted to loop his arm with Castiel's, but noted the
spare sets of eyes on the pair of them and felt as though maybe he wouldn't
appreciate such an affectionate touch in front of all these people.
 "Adventure is always good."
“Yes, it is.”  He smiled, moving to press through the crowd and down the
hallway to the exit.  “There's space too.  And cowboys.  And this wicked little
psychic-- well, I'll just let you find that out on your own.”
Letting out a slightly put upon sigh, Castiel looked over to him as they
stepped out the double doors and into the afternoon sun.  "Y'know, I hate
cliffhangers."  He drawled out, teasing despite the truth in his words.
Laughing, he nudged into his side, moving ahead of him to walk backwards with a
wry smile.  “Y'know, I just can't bring myself to feel sorry for you.”
"Of course you can't."  He jibed, a smile on his face, the kind that he didn't
wear near often enough, and certainly never in public.  "Cold hearted."
Humming, he shrugged nonchalantly, tucking his hands into his pockets to resist
reaching to touch him and that beautiful smile.  “What can I say?  I'm a cruel
son of a bitch.  I just like to watch you squirm.”
"I'm sure you would."  He said, a little quieter than he usually might, none of
his previous tease present. 
Stumbling at the edge of the sidewalk, Dean's expression slipped faintly, and
he gave a soft huff of breath like it was knocked out of him.  “I'm sure I
would.”
A soft flush took up unwanted residence on Dean’s cheeks, chancing a glance up
at him, afraid he'd said too much.  Cas was staring at him, expression giving
away nothing more than mild interest.
Swallowing thickly, Dean came to a slow stop right before him, and he felt his
stomach clench and his palms itch and he wanted.  Wanted to close the space
between them and kiss Castiel senseless.  But he knew better than that.  Knew
that teasing was one thing-- that there was no way Castiel could want him like
that.  He could barely grasp why Cas wanted him as a friend.
"I'm sure it would be quite the sight," he jibed weakly, but there was a wicked
grin on his face.  "You, squirming." 
Painting a smile on his face in order to keep up with Dean's teasing, Castiel
met his grin easily.  "So I've been told."  He smirked, trying to ignore the
desire that flared in him, knowing it was not his place, refusing to yield to
it.
"Oh?"  And there was a touch of jealousy, but he easily concealed it as he
stepped a touch closer, toes hitting the curb.  "Now, do you enjoy doing the
squirming or do you like it the other way around?"
Castiel gave a slight shrug, pushing down the desire to lean in and kiss that
jealous little look right off his face.  "Depends on the person I'm with."  He
admitted.
And if you were with me?  Dean hummed, feigning disinterest.  "Been with a lot
of people?"
"No, only Meg.  Though there have been one or two close calls."  He said,
looking over him quickly, as though afraid he'd be caught out.
"Oh," he replied, shock blatant on his face, having expected Castiel to have
much more experience than that with the way he spoke.  Seeing the searching
look on his face, he stammered out another response.  "Same-- I mean, no, not
the same.  Not with Meg-- neverwith Meg, no offense-- but I mean, well, I mean
I haven't squirmed for anyone--"  Cutting himself off with a sigh, he dragged
an awkward hand through his hair and scrubbed at the back of his head.  "Close
calls.  Nothing else.  And not many of those either." 
A frown furrowed Cas' brow, looking at him curiously.  "They must be blind." 
He said, opening his mouth without thinking about the consequences.
"Who?"  He glanced up, head canting slightly, though a flush spread over his
face at the complement.
Cas stalled for a moment, mumbling unintelligibly under his breath.  "They. 
All of them.  Everyone."  He babbled, mouth running as his nerves grew.
"What if..."  he stepped back up onto the curb, voice lowering.  "What if it
wasn't them that chose not to-- well, you know.  What if it was me?  What if I
was the one who didn't want to go further-- didn't want to- to squirm for them
or make them...  squirm?"  His face grew a deep red, and he offered up a weak
smile.  "In a manner of speaking."
Castiel cleared his throat a little, shifting from foot to foot.  "Then it's a
shame for them, I suppose."  He mumbled, chancing a glance at him, hiding his
disappointment carefully, taking it as dismissal, because there was no way he'd
ever get Dean's attention.  Not really.  "But someone's bound to get your
attention someday.  Find a pretty girl, get married.  2.5 children, white
picket fence."
"Nah," he sighed, grin turning rueful.  "I've done the whole child-rearing
thing with Sam.  I mean, yeah, maybe someday.  But I'm kinda thinking settling
down with some hot guy and living my life sprawled out on a Mexican beach. 
What do you think?"
It took a moment for him to process what he just heard, interest perking.  At
least he wasn't completely without a chance.  "I've heard Mexican beaches are
supposed to be relaxing."  He said, a shy smile on his face.  "But I prefer
mountains."
"Well, a log cabin isn't out of the question."  He laughed faintly, feeling his
nerves buzz with awareness, tiptoeing on eggshells around him.
Castiel stopped breathing altogether for a moment, staring at him in barely
concealed disbelief.  There was no way Dean was implying what he thought he was
implying.  There was no way Dean meant to follow him.  "I don't think they make
mountains with beaches near them....  But I can compromise."
"Compromise is... always good," Dean said, feeling hope well up in him.  He
went to move closer, maybe close the space between them, when he was startled
by a horn going off behind him.  Jumping, he turned about, plastering on a fake
smile as Jo pulled up in her beat up Honda.
"Dean!"  She called out to him excitedly as her passenger side window rolled
down.  "Jesus, am I glad to see you."
Startling back, Castiel was quick to put some much loathed space between them,
regarding his interruption with a slightly cold gaze.  They were so close and
maybe he could have finally done something about the affection that had
burrowed deep into him.
Jo slid to a stop and killed the engine; Dean winced as it sputtered, brow
furrowing when she slid out of her car and popped the hood, smoke pouring from
it.  "Fucking christ, Jo, what the hell did you do?"
"I don't know," she sighed, looking forlorning at it.  "Every time it gets hot
out it does this.  Take a look at it for me?"
"Now?"  He glanced over at Castiel, giving him a regretful and apologetic
look.  "I mean, I've kinda got plans, Jo--"
"I know, I know."  She replied reaching over to grab him familiarly by the
wrist and tugging him over to the front of the car, despite the way he dragged
his feet.  "I'm not asking you to fix it, not right now, I'll bring it by the
shop for that.  But just... give it a look through?  Tell me what kind of crap
I'm dealing with here?"
"Um..."  he looked back over at Cas, question in his gaze, wondering if it was
alright to delay their marathon.
Castiel narrowed his eyes as she tugged Dean away, shoulders tensing in
irritation.  Nodding once when Dean questioned him, he relaxed some, kept at
bay by the apologetic look on his face.  "Take as long as you need."
Smiling at him, he only turned his attention back to Jo when she pulled
urgingly at his wrist.  "Yeah, sure, let's take a look."
Slipping his bag off his shoulder, he let it slump onto the asphalt next to his
feet and ducked underneath the hood of the car.  Waving his hand to clear the
smoke, he squinted at all the mechanics, letting out a sharp sigh before he
pulled back out already feeling the heat radiating off of the engine.  With
deft hands, he checked over the oil and all of the usual suspects, but found
things too hot to touch.
"Jo, hun, I think your radiator is busted."
Picking up Dean's bag, Cas stood steadfast beside the car, expression guarded
as he waited with more patience than his reputation suggested.  He had no idea
what a radiator did, but by the way Jo groaned, he assumed it was important.
"You're kidding me," she huffed, shaking her head like she refused to believe
it.
"Afraid not," Dean grimaced, pulling back from the engine and snapping the hood
back down.  "You can put as much coolant in it as you like, but it won't do
much good if it can’t circulate it through.  Bring it by the shop tomorrow at
four-- I should be out of practice by then, and I know Bobby will have a spot
open for you."
"Do you think if I bring by dinner from The Roadhouse he'll give me a
discount?"
Giving her a dry look, he wiped his hands off on his jeans, "He'll give you a
discount anyway, Jo.  You know that."
"Right," she smiled, almost coy as she looked up at him.  "Thanks for taking a
peek.  And for volunteering your services."
"You tip well," he grinned with a shrug, tucking his hands into his pockets. 
"Besides, your mom would kill me if I didn't help out."
"Well, it's appreciated."  She leaned up, resting a hand on his chest as he
pecked him on the cheek.   Rolling his eyes fondly, he took a step back up onto
the sidewalk as she climbed into her car.
 "Oh, and Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Glad to hear you're gonna be playing soccer again," she smiled winningly,
ducking into her car and calling to him through the passenger side.  "I'll make
sure to be at the home games, cheering you on from the stands."
"Yeah, yeah."  He waved her off, grimacing as her engine groaned to life, and
watching as she started to roll away.  "Tell your mom I said hi!"  She saluted
him out the window, and he chuckled faintly before he turned back to Castiel. 
"Sorry about all that."
Castiel had glowered faintly from beside them as they looked over the car,
watching as Jo spoke to Dean, eyes narrowed as he analysed her; a faint scowl
had been plastered on his face the entire time the second he had noticed the
way she lingered just a little too long on Dean's words, had stared too hard. 
Competition never was valued.
"Who was she?"  He asked, handing his bag back.
"Who, Jo?"  He took his bag gratefully, flashing a smile at him as he started
to lead the way to his car.  "My boss'-- Ellen's daughter.  Known her for
years."  Pausing, he gave him a teasing smile, all jest.  "Why, you jealous, or
something?"
"No."  He lied, watching as her car puttered away.  "Just curious.  I think she
saw something she liked though."
"And what would that be?"  He snorted derisively, moving to jerk open his back
door, tossing his bag onto the seat. 
"You."  He said simply, sliding into the passenger seat with practised
familiarity.
Dean balked, climbing into the driver's side and turning to look at Castiel as
they settled in.  "Me?"
Humming softly, he nodded, "I know infatuation when I see it."
Peering at him carefully, he shook his head, turning to start the engine and
feeling it purr.  "I don't think you do." 
"I think I do."  He countered, settling in for yet another car ride, finding
the small space a little confronting.
"Trust me, Cas."  He replied, almost solemnly.  "You don't.  You wouldn't know
it if it punched you."  Because I've been looking at you, infatuated, for
weeks.
Grunting softly, he gave a noncommittal shrug. "Guess I'll have to learn then."
"Hopefully not," he muttered under his breath, pulling out of the parking lot,
hoping that Castiel wouldn't learn to recognize it.  That he wouldn't ever see
it plastered on Dean's face when he looked at him.  Because he couldn't stand
the idea of Castiel seeing it and reacting with disgust.
"You say something?"  He asked, picking up on the faint mumble that could have
been the radio, missing it almost completely in his pondering.  He knew
infatuation, because he'd seen it on so many occasions.  Perhaps he'd missed
something before.
"Nah," he swallowed, turning down the road, feeling a sad kind of resolve
settle in him.  "Nothing."
Humming in faint disbelief, Cas turned back to the road before him, watching
with dull interest.  The car may have made him feel ill, but it smelt of Dean-
- comfort to his nerves whilst cooped up.
***** That Boy Is Trouble (I’ve Got It Bad) *****
Chapter Notes
     WARNING: Brief mentions of child abuse, brief mentions of suicide.
 
It was near dark by the time Castiel had walked the half dozen blocks it was
from his apartment to Dean’s house-- black clad to better blend with darkening
streets-- moving through back alleys as opposed to main streets in case he was
hauled down to the Sheriff's office for yet another questioning.  Apparently
walking in the dark was a crime now.
Slowing as a familiar home came into view, he checked around him as discreetly
as possible before slipping into the shadow cast by setting sun against the
north side of Dean’s house. He hopped the fence with the ease borne of
practice, thankful this one wasn’t as tall as some of the neighbors’ abodes.
 Landing in the yard with a soft thud, he walked around until he found the
window to Dean’s bedroom, deciding that breaking in would be less hassle than
knocking and then having to wait to be answered, and thenpotentially having to
explain to what would be a slightly wary Sam his exact intentions for the
evening.
Slipping a switch knife from the pocket sewn into the inside of his jacket, he
bit down onto it as scaled the trellis on the side of the house, stopping to
lever the window’s lock open, slipping it under the frame and flicking the
catch with a practiced hand, thankful that Dean’s home was built in a similar
style as the rest of the houses around and equipped with near identical
windows.  Opening the window slowly to avoid too much noise, he replaced the
knife and climbed into Dean’s room, finding it brightly lit, evenly furnished
and near spotlessly clean save for the shirt draped on his bed. 
Inconveniently, it was also lacking its owner.
Sighing softly, he closed the window, peeling a pair of gloves back and stowing
them in his back pocket, wearing them out of forced of habit.  Leave no prints
and they can’t prove much.  Taking it upon himself to stretch out, cat like,
over Dean’s bed, he waited patiently to be found, not wanting to just appear in
the kitchen without seeing his friend first.
 
 
Dean was sore to say the least-- the week had been harsh, and Friday practice
had kicked his ass.  He was incredibly out of shape despite the occasional runs
he’d been taking when he could fit them in.  Coach hadn’t been easy on him, but
he had been grateful to have him back on the field.  The boys had been just as
enthusiastic, though a few had been a touch wary and a little aggressive.  Dean
was just happy he’d come away without any bruises.
His shower had been exactly what he needed, hot water cascading down over
aching muscles, and easing all the tension he’d been carrying with himself
throughout the week.  The room had steamed up, and his hair stuck up at odd
angles when he stepped out of the stall, wrapping a towel around his waist.
He was tempted to call Cas, let him know that he was feeling lazy, and that
going out tonight sounded like more or less of a hassle.  He’d already bagged
out on Charlie and their pizza night in order to spend time with him, but
protesting muscles begged otherwise.  Debating with himself, he trekked back
into his bedroom, struggling with a bottle of ibuprofen as he made his way
across the floor and over to his dresser.
Having to bite his tongue in order to keep from chuckling when Dean didn’t even
notice, Cas watched as he wrestled with a pill bottle, lounging over his bed
like he owned the place, boots and all.
“Hello, Dean.”  He said, calm despite the urge to laugh, fingers interlaced
behind his head, giving an appreciative hum as he looked over the length of his
still slightly damp body, beating back the flush that wanted to creep up. 
Perhaps breaking in had its advantages after all. 
“Jesus fuck!”  Dean startled, cap slipping off the bottle, and pills came
jumping out and scattered all over the place.  “Cas, what the hell--?”
Dean's face went beet red, and he took an awkward step back into the wooden
dresser-- it clattered against the wall, knocking a few things off of the top. 
Heart jack-hammering in his chest, Dean huffed out a tight breath, staring at
him in shock.
“Cas, what the fuck?”
Not moving from what was a very comfortable bed --and yes, it did smell exactly
as he thought it would-- Castiel gave a faint shrug, chuckling softly as Dean
fumbled around.
“We’re going out, remember.  Decided to come by a little early.”  He smirked,
raising his head to take a less than discrete look at Dean.  “Just in time for
the show, am I?”
“I- I uh--” It was ridiculous that he was so embarrassed; he’d been much more
naked in front of many more men.  He supposed that maybe it was because it was
Castiel.  Clearing his throat, he gathered his bearings and stood up a bit
straighter.  “No.  You missed the show-- it was fifteen minutes ago in the
shower.  Why, you looking for a repeat?”
Regarding him with a certain arrogance, Castiel sat up, leering at him when he
finally got a hold of himself.  “What, not enough of an audience for you? 
Prefer the changing rooms?”
“The kind of show I’m talking about doesn’t belong in a locker room,” he
replied darkly, noting the look on his friend’s face with a roll of his eyes. 
“Now, if you would be so kind as to turn your back?  I’d like to get dressed.”
Huffing faintly, Castiel rolled over, messing up the otherwise neat bed as he
did, back facing Dean as he waited for him to change, a little disappointed he
couldn’t watch.
Inhaling deeply, Dean turned, facing away from his bed as he let the towel drop
unceremoniously to the floor.  "Breaking and entering is a crime, you know."
“So are a lot of things, but I still do them.”  Cas retorted, hearing the drop
of a slightly damp towel.  “It’s easier breaking in anyway, I wouldn't exactly
call this place secure.”
"What do you mean 'secure'?"  Dean's brow furrowed as he pulled on a pair of
briefs and then walked over to his closet, opening it with a pensive hum.  "Oh,
and all the goods bits are covered up, you can look now."
Rolling over languidly, he took him in, filing the sight that of that pert ass
away for future use.  "Basic window paneling, shaded fence, easy street
access.  It's not a difficult break in."
Frowning as he turned to face him, a shirt and hanger in hand, he canted his
head slightly.  "Are you saying my house isn't safe?"
"Only if someone wanted to get in."  He said, propping himself up on an elbow,
a small smile on his face, wanting to take Dean's frown away.  "Don't worry,
I'll put in a good word with the town’s thief."
“Thanks,” he said, giving him a dry look as he placed the hanger back on the
wrack, pulling the shirt on over his head-- a bright green color that had block
letters scrawled across it, spelling 'TOBUSCUS'.   “But seriously, should I
look into an alarm system?  I don't want Sammy getting hurt.”
"Any thief worth their skill can get past one.  Don't bother, not worth the
expense or the hassle half the time."  He replied, a little disappointed when
Dean pulled on a shirt, tilting his head at the vivid lettering.  What on earth
is a Tobuscus?  It sounded mildly contagious.
Dean looked like he didn't like that answer, nose wrinkling briefly as he moved
back over to his dresser and pulled out a pair of well-worn jeans.  “So what
you're saying is: if someone wants in my house, they'll find a way in.”
"That's sort of the point of a break in."  Castiel told him, sitting up as he
dressed, taking a moment to appreciate his friend.  "I'm sure you could fight
them off."
“Cas,” he laughed softly, shaking his head.  “I don't want to have to fight
anyone off.”
Cas shrugged, "Might have to one day.  Could you?"
“If I had to,” he hesitated, thinking of all the times John had struck him, of
the beatings he'd taken in practices, of that time he knocked a kid out for
bullying Sammy when they were in primary school.  “Yeah.  I could.”
Nodding slowly, Castiel stood up, not quite sure he wanted to know what kind of
thoughts made Dean hesitate like that.  "Good.  You never know when you'll need
it."
Grinning, he pulled his pants over his hips and buttoned the fly with deft
fingers.  “That a threat?  Cuz I gotta say, Cas, I think I could take you
down.”
"I doubt that.  No offence, but I have more practice."  He said, confident he
could floor Dean before he had time to bat his pretty eyes.
“Maybe,” Dean conceded, smirk never leaving his face.  “I'd like to see you
try.”
"Is that a challenge, Winchester?"  He asked, straightening out to stand 
before him, guard rising despite the playful glint in his eyes.
"Might be," he nodded, but didn't move from his relaxed stature, shoulders
slumped slightly so that he appeared just a hair shorter than Castiel.  "Would
you accept it if it was?"
"Yes."  He said simply, taking him in with a watchful gaze-- taking apart his
body, the way he would move if they did fight.
Humming contemplatively, Dean drew closer-- slow and disarming in his
movements-- until there was hardly a foot of space between them.  "Maybe I'll
have to take you up on that."
"Is that wise?  I've fought off people much bigger than you before."  Cas said,
no boast in his tone, only fact.
"You won't hurt me," he replied confidently-- it might of seemed like it was a
cocky statement, but it wasn't.  It was faith that Cas wouldn't harm him if
they ever decided to tussle it out.  He knew he was in safe hands.  "I trust
you."
"Much.  I won't hurt you much."  Castiel clarified, knowing that even play
fights ended in bruises.  "But no.  I wouldn't."  He admitted, the trust
between them unlike anything he'd had for anyone else.
Dean stared at him for a long moment, seeing the honesty written across his
earnest features.  It was one thing to believe that someone wouldn't do you
harm, and another to hear it said out loud by them.  It made something in him
swell with affection, with satisfaction, and his grin softened into a small
smile.  Gaze locked with Cas', he let himself get lost for a moment in those
blue eyes, a blue so blue he felt like he had to break to let it all in.
Dean was tempted to reach out, to comb his fingers through that-- truly unfair-
- mess of sex hair, and his hand twitched at his side as he stamped down the
urge.  He wondered, if he would only ask, if Castiel would try and kiss him
again.  Wondered what it would feel like to really have those lips slant over
his.  To have the breath kissed out of him.
"We should get going," Dean said absently, not really wanting to break the
bubble they were in, voice low as if speaking too loud would ruin everything.
Cas hardly heard him, too wrapt up in the moment they shared, cut off from
everything else.  Only the steady gaze between them, affectionate in ways he
only just managed to grasp.  After a long moment, he looked away, though he
didn't move any further back, nearly leaning in and kissing away the reminder,
having to clench a fist to keep from closing the distance.
"Yes.  We probably should."
As if coming back to himself, Dean inhaled sharply and took a small step back,
certain that he was crossing some kind of boundary.  "Let's go then.  The night
is young and so are we."
Nodding quickly, Castiel shook himself off, shaking his head as though to clear
it.  "At least I don't have to sneak out too."  He said, trying to remove the
tension that had settled over them.
Dean scoffed.  "Please.  My dad hasn't been aware enough to catch me sneaking
off since I was ten.  Besides, he's not home and neither is Sam.  No sneaking
needed."  He said, walking over to the hanging hook by the jam to grab his
leather coat, slipping it on before he opened his door, pausing to glance over
at him with a teasing smile.  "Which means that if we'd stayed in, we would've
had the place to ourselves.  Plenty of time to see who could take who, and with
no interruptions.  Too bad."
There was plenty of room for interpretation, and Cas smirked at the double
meaning.  "Generally, I don't lose.  But I'm sure you'd be a worthy opponent." 
He said evenly, following Dean out.
“I’m sure you would be too.”
===============================================================================
 
"--oh, my god, no."  Dean sighed, voice raised above the noise in the bar,
leaning against his pool cue.  "We've talked about this, Cas.  I'm not
interested in college. 
Castiel gave a long sigh, leather clad body leant against the wall as he gave
Dean a pointed look.  "Well you should be, smart guy like you would do fine in
college."  He countered.
"I'm not smart," he muttered, scanning the table before he pushed fully onto
his feet, moving to bend awkwardly and missing the ball for the umpteenth
time.  "College is for people who are going places.  Who could be someone,
Cas.  That's just not me."  Pulling back, he frowned down at the cue ball, as
if it were its fault he was sucking so bad.  "You'll do great at University.  I
won't."
"Yes, you will. You show me every time we sit down for tutoring."  Cas hissed,
moving up to him, annoyance rising.  Why couldn't Dean see his talent for
this?  "You're smarter than you give yourself credit for, so use it!  Go to
college, and do something better than fixing radiators on beat up old cars."
"What if I want to spend the rest of my life fixing radiators on beat up old
cars?"  He replied defensively, gesturing to the table for his turn.  It wasn't
true.  He enjoyed working on cars, yes, but he didn't want to spend the rest of
his days under the hood of one.  He honestly didn't know what he wanted, had
never given it much thought because he knew it would just be another
unattainable goal he'd disappoint people failing to reach.
"But you don't!"  Castiel snapped, picking up his cue stick to take his shot,
using the sharp strike of the ball to take out some of his frustration, almost
sending in bouncing off the table.  "I know you don't."
"Then please, oh, great all-knowing one, tell me what it is I want to do with
my life."  He retorted, watching as a striped ball fell into the corner pocket,
and letting out a frustrated sound as he realized he was losing.  Again. 
"Wait, no, let me guess.  Go to college and make something of myself.  Cas, I'm
not gonna get in anywhere, let alone afford it or make it through the classes."
Turning a glare on him, Castiel huffed out his irritation.  "It's called a
scholarship."  He grit out, hardly paying any attention to the game.  Letting
out a long sigh, he let the tension across his shoulders ease.  "Just, look
into it...  Please?"
"Yeah, okay, whatever."  He replied, voice soft and almost inaudible over the
noise of the crowd around them.  "I'll start looking at stuff or whatever. 
Colleges."
"Thank you."  He said, annoyance fading with Dean's tone.
"Yeah, yeah."  He shrugged it off and then gestured to the table.  "Can we just
stop before you kick my ass again and start a new round?  Maybe you could show
me how to play instead of mocking my struggle?"
"But I like kicking your ass."  Cas teased, appreciating the change of subject,
not liking the argument that had been boiling between them.  Dean had some
serious self-worth issues.
"No, you just like my ass."  Dean corrected, grinning wryly.  "But seriously,
help me out here, I keep missing."
Rolling his eyes, Castiel leant his cue against the wall and folded his arms. 
"Take a shot."  He said, "I'll correct you."
"Aye aye, Captain Feathers."  He gave a mock salute, before taking a stiff
stance at the edge of the table, lining up his shot, and then just barely
clipping a ball he wasn't even aiming for.
Cas gave a soft sigh, moving to stand next to him, a little too close, though
the situation demanded it.  "Relax.  It’s a cue ball, not a demon."  He said. 
"Don't look at the end of the cue for your aim, watch the ball, and it will
happen."
"Good god, you sound like Mr. Miyagi."  Dean huffed out a laugh, bending to
take aim again, but doing the same flub as previous, and missing completely. 
"Your advice sucks, Cas."
"My advice is great, your aim sucks."  Cas retorted, standing behind him until
they pressed together.  "Relax."  He repeated, tapping at his too tense arm. 
"This one’s only a guide, all the effort is in the other arm."  He said,
painfully aware of how close they stood.
Shuddering faintly as Cas’ baritone muttered far too close to his ear, Dean
cleared his throat and forced himself to relax.  He could feel the heat of
Castiel's body, the planes of his chest pressed alongside his back, and-- was
that a nipple piercing?
Swallowing thickly, he turned his head, "Like this?"
Moulding his body to Dean's as clinically as he could, trying desperately to
focus on the task at hand as opposed to the press of their bodies, he moved
Dean’s arms a little until he was satisfied.
"Good.  Now take your shot."  Cas said, pulling away so as not to obstruct him.
Letting out a small breath, Dean was simultaneously relieved and regretful that
Castiel pulled away.   Focusing on the task at hand, he sank his shot with
little finesse and plastered on a triumphant smile.  "Hey!  Would you look at
that."
Smiling at him, Castiel nodded his approval.  "See, you're not that terrible. 
Again, this time, without my help."
Bending back over the table, he set up another shot and just barely missed the
side pocket.  Huffing, he stood straight and glanced over at him.  "Show me
again?"
Casting a less than discreet glance at his ass, Cas sighed softly as he
missed.  "Relax."  He said again, pressing a hand to the middle of his back. 
"You're skewing the shot."  He explained, moving up behind him again,
repositioning his arms, and the angle at which he stood.
"I am relaxed," he groused, easing back against him, liking the way their
bodies pressed together far too much to be normal.  He let hands brush over his
arms, guiding him into the right position, and gasped faintly as his feet were
knocked apart just slightly.
"No, you're not."  Cas said calmly, brushing a hand over Dean's shoulders,
dropping them to rid the tension holding them too tight to ever get a decent
shot.
"I'm not?"  Dean asked teasingly, though there was the vaguest waver as he let
Castiel coax his body into going lax.
"I can feel it from here."  Cas deadpanned, voice a little strained with the
effort it took to keep himself in check.  Satisfied that he couldn't do much
else to make Dean relax, he pulled away again.  "Go on."
With an easy movement, he hit the cue ball and watched as it clattered into a
another, making another shot.  Barely pausing to shift, he lined up for another
shot and sank that one too.  Straightening out, he beamed over at Castiel,
smiling.  "I'm getting better already.  Wanna try for a game?"
Castiel narrowed his eyes in mild suspicion as Dean sank the shot, a little
wary.  Generally, one didn't improve that fast, even with his tutoring. 
"Sure."  He said, confident his friend wouldn't do anything too sneaky.
"Wanna put money on it?"  He asked, setting up the table for the next round. 
"Raise the stakes?"
"How much are we talking?"  Cas asked, "I don't exactly have thousands to throw
around."
"Like twenty, Cas."  He laughed, leaning against his pool cue.  "Nothing
crazy.  I'm not exactly rolling in the dough, either."
"Done."  He replied, picking up his own cue.  "Though I warn you, I've been
doing this for quite a while."
Laying his cash on the table, Dean hummed, circling around the other side as he
gestured for Cas to make the first move.  "Go ahead then.  School me."
Digging his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans, Cas laid his money out and
moved to take his shot.
Dean watched as he broke, and winced in sympathy when none of the balls went
in.  "Too bad," he muttered and then moved to take his own shot.  Bending over
with far too much grace, all earlier clumsiness gone, he hit the cue ball and
sank a stripe into the corner pocket.  Grinning to himself, he moved around the
table, purposefully brushing against Castiel on his way past, he bent again and
managed another before he paused to glance up at Castiel coyly. 
Cursing softly, Cas sent a glare Dean's way, knowing exactly what was
happening.  "You son of a bitch."  He grumbled.  So much for needing help.  A
slow, deliberate smirk curled his lips.  "Y'know, if you didn't need my help,
why'd you make me teach you?  Anyone would think you just liked shoving your
ass at me."
"It's a distinct possibility," he muttered, blushing faintly as he made another
shot, the smirk on Cas' face making his stomach twist.  "Or maybe they'd think
I just liked being pressed up against you."
"It’s certainly possible."  Cas said evenly, noting his flush with a flare of
satisfaction.  Leaning on the table, he stretched a little, deciding a
distraction was no longer off the cards considering Dean's cheat.
Letting his eyes follow the line of Castiel's body in subtle admiration, Dean
sank another shot, and then missed the one after that.  Standing up straight,
he turned and faced him, leaning back against the edge of the table as he met
his gaze.  "Speaking of being pressed up against you-- a nipple piercing? 
Really?"
"Two, actually."  Cas replied, uncaring about the mild judgement he heard. 
"You seem surprised?"  He added, moving off the table to pick up his cue. 
Taking a shot, he cursed softly when a striped ball missed the pocket by a
quarter inch.
"Not surprised," he said, watching as Cas missed and smiling, staying relaxed
against the table as Castiel circled back to stand in front of him.  "Just
commenting.  Did they hurt?"
"Oh no, not at all.  A spike of metal through my nipple.  Painless."  Cas said,
tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Aw, poor baby."  Dean mocked.  "Want me to kiss it better?"
"Left one preferably."  Cas replied, going along with his tease.  "Can't feel
the other one."
Blinking rapidly, his gaze strayed down to his chest and back up, reaching out
instinctively.  "Wait, seriously?"
"Hm.  Side effect apparently.  The whole thing about nipple piercings being
more sensitive is true, but they can also numb them."  He explained, watching
him reach out a little warily.
His hand faltered mid-air, and he frowned.  "Well that's gotta suck."  He
dropped his hand back to his side.  "Kinky fun with one side and none with the
other."
"Suck is the right word, yes."  Cas smirked, a little disappointed Dean’s
didn't keep going.  "Half the fun's in seeing people's reaction."
"I'm sure suck is the perfect word," he added, returning the look, eyes dark as
he drummed his fingers against the wood of the pool table, resisting the urge
to reach out and tug Cas close by the belt loops.
Castiel had near forgotten they were playing a game of pool, meeting the dark
look in Dean's eyes evenly, licking his lips slowly.  It wasn't fair, how much
he wanted to lean in.  But he couldn't, not to Dean.
Eyes drawing down to his mouth, his gaze flicked back up, and Dean grinned
wryly.  "You still want me to kiss it better?"
Smirking at him, Castiel tilted his head.  "Is that an offer?"
"Could be," he shrugged, attempting to appear innocent and failing miserably. 
"If it is, are you gonna take me up on it?"
Swallowing thickly, Cas took a step forward, praying his courage didn't fail
him now.  "Yes, I would."
Dean's heart stammered and his eyes grew dark, hyper aware of the space
depleting between them.  His mind was flooded with images of stripping
Castiel's shirt over his head, revealing the skin beneath, and seeing those
piercings for himself.  There was a strong throb of want, and he laughed
softly, shaking his head.  "Man, we have got to work on this tension thing,
Cas."
"We should."  Castiel agreed, not moving away, watching him intently, letting
his imagination run wild with ideas that he usually never let see the light of
day, briefly wondering if Dean was as flexible as he looked.  "Either we stop,
or we resolve it."  Can we just kiss already?
"And how do you suggest we go about resolving it if we decide not to stop?"  He
asked, voice dropping to something warm and inviting.
Pondering his words for a moment, a smile curled Castiel's lips, hearing the
familiar pulse of music in the background.  "Dance with me.  If nothing
happens, I'll drop the subject altogether, and we'll have no more tension."
"Yeah," he hesitated only for a moment to grab their money off the table before
pushing off the edge, pressing more into Castiel's space, as if waiting for him
to make a move.  "Yeah, okay.  Let's dance."
Smiling at him, Cas took his hand, tugging him towards the smattering of people
on the dance floor.  He could have sworn he heard a familiar cackle from behind
the bar, though his brother was nowhere to be found upon turning around.
Pulling him in, Cas offered a smirk, beginning to move ever so slightly to the
beat of Mannish Boy, Muddy Waters’ voice crooning into the crowd, sinuous and
practiced.
Dean smiled, chuckling softly as Cas reeled him in on the dance floor, gaze
light and bemused as they stopped mere inches from one another.  Dean swayed
slightly, catching the beat, watching as his friend moved with familiar ease
with a hint of envy and a dash of lust.  Keeping the miniscule amount of space
between them, a respectful distance, Dean gasped and stumbled forward as
someone ran into him from behind; Dean stumbled and pressed flush against Cas’
chest, swallowing thickly, one hand at his bicep and the other slipping under
his jacket to press to the ladder of Castiel's ribs.
Adapting to the lack of space, Cas pressed a hand to Dean's hip, guiding and
encouraging as he moved, unabashedly sliding against him.  He could do this; he
would do this.
Stomach dropping, Dean allowed himself to be moved, skin burning pleasantly
where Cas had laid his hand.  His fingers tightened at his arm, hips rolling in
time with the beat of a familiar blues medley-- Waters' raspy voice filling the
air, and Dean found himself pressing closer, their knees bumping until their
legs slotted together as the hand at Castiel's side curled into the fabric of
his shirt.  Meeting his gaze, Dean offered up a small smile, as if telling Cas
that it was okay and at the same time asking if what he was doing was alright
too.
Pressing up close-- partially to avoid the other people, but mostly because he
enjoyed the heat shared between them-- Cas nodded his approval, the hand at his
hip squeezing faintly as they moved together; inappropriate, but overly
satisfying.
"Do this often?"  Cas asked, voice low to avoid being overheard, moving in
perfect time to the music.
"No," he confessed, almost self-consciously.  They were surrounded by people,
an even rhythm pumping through the bar that their hips were swaying to, others
dancing around them.  But Dean felt like it was just the two of them, so close
they were all but sharing the same breath, staring intently at one another as
they moved.  "Do you?"
"How do you think I steal things?"  He said, leaning in until his lips nearly
brushed Dean's ear.
"By asking them for their wallets politely?"  He said drolly, shuddering as
breath ghosted by, warm with the promise of soft lips; his fingers tightened in
the cotton material at his side, bunching up the fabric as hips moved against
his.  "So am I another target?  Planning on picking my pocket tonight?"
"Oh, I'd never choose to dance with you."  Cas told him, half tempted to see if
the skin beneath his ear was as tasty as it looked.  "I go for people who don't
have anyone else, who get left behind.  Easier to fool."
"So you do this often?  This isn't new?"  He asked, turning his head slightly,
mouth just barely brushing right in front of his ear.
"I dance all the time, but not quite like this."  Cas admitted, letting the
hand at his hip move to rest at his lower back.  "This is more personal."
"Good personal or bad personal?"  His breath hitched faintly, and he let his
own hand slide up over his shoulder to curl around the back of his neck, the
other still tight in his shirt.
"Good."  Cas told him, a little hesitantly.  Tipping his head, he brushed his
lips over the shell of his ear, inhaling sharply as he resisted the urge to
just kiss him already and get it over with.
"Good," he muttered, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, their noses
bumping.  "Me too."
The brush of their noses sent a thrill through Cas, nearly freezing as they
stared at each other, hardly a breath between them. Dean didn't know what to
say, or what else to do, breathing shakily and then not at all.
Just as Cas was leaning in, tired of dancing around each other, of pretending
there wasn't something there, Dean was jolted as someone hit his back again. 
Their foreheads knocked together, and Dean jerked back with a hiss, rubbing at
the sore spot.  A hand landed on his shoulder, and Dean turned around to meet a
familiar face.
"I'm sorry, man, two left feet over-- Winchester?"  Jake smiled, a clash of
white teeth and dark skin.  "Hey, man, what's up?"
The curses that ran through Castiel's mind were filthy even for him, glaring
steadily at their interruption, vaguely recognizing him as one of Dean's
teammates.  Letting him go, Cas kept quiet save for the few expletives he
muttered under his breath.  They were so close.  Enough to finally do something
about the dance they'd been doing around each other for weeks.  Any doubts he
had about Dean's feelings were quashed, there was no way that was imagined or
misinterpreted.
"I, uh--"  Dean stammered, flushing a deep red, and Jake peered over at
Castiel, understanding dawning.  "I was just--"
There was a flash of something like distaste before he was smiling weakly at
him, giving his shoulder a friendly nudge.  "Didn't mean to interrupt, bro. 
Don't stay up too late, we've got that scrimmage tomorrow."
"Yeah.  Yeah, thanks."  He nodded, returning the look as Jake seeped back into
the crowd, and there was a sense of awareness that curled in him, the hairs on
the back of his neck standing up when he realized Castiel was right behind
him.  When he realized that they had nearly kissed, nearly crossed that
unspoken boundary between friendship and more, fear knotted in him and he
turned back around.  Clearing his throat, he managed to look everywhere but his
eyes.  "Sorry about that."
Castiel watched Jake leave, glaring at their interruption heatedly until he
vanished into the crowd.  Turning back to Dean, he gave him a hopeful look,
wishing they could just forget all about Jake and go back to dancing. 
Swallowing thickly, Cas reached out for him, fingers brushing in silent ask.
Hand flexing, Dean reluctantly threaded their fingers together loosely. 
Shuffling a bit closer, he met Castiel's gaze regretfully.  "He's right. 
Practice is early tomorrow."
Cas couldn't help but feel disappointed, giving Dean's hand a quick squeeze
before letting go, still retaining some of the warmth from his skin.  "Guess
I'll see you on Monday then."  He said quietly, gripping into the leather of
his jacket to avoid leaning in and kissing him when Dean obviously wanted to
leave.
Dean nodded slowly, looking as though he wanted to finish what they’d started,
but he took one step back and then another.  “I’ll see you on Monday.”  And
then he was leaving, threading back through the crowd, a heavy weight in his
gut. 
Castiel went home angry that night, frustrated about just how close they'd
gotten, about ill timed interruptions and the definition of friends.
===============================================================================
 
The second his brother walked through the door, Gabriel knew something wasn't
right; the tension across his shoulders, and the near petulant look on his face
tipping him to what would probably be another round of boy troubles.
"Alright, what did he do now?"
If questioned later, Castiel would deny pouting completely, throwing himself
onto the couch in a state of utter frustration, limbs splayed haphazardly.
"We were this close!"  He complained, placing his thumb and forefinger about a
half inch apart to illustrate.  "Literally thatclose, and then some idiot
interrupted." 
Gabriel winced in sympathy, patting the leg currently hooked over the back of
the couch.  “He’ll come ‘round sooner or later.”
His sympathies were met with a flat look from the younger of the pair.  “I’m
sick of waiting.  I had him, Gabriel.  Right there.  And I lost him.”
“You didn’t lose him, moron.  It just didn’t happen.  Patience.”
“Like you can talk about patience.”
“Older, wiser, smarter, little bro.”  Gabriel reminded, pushing Castiel’s legs
off the couch so he could sit down only to have them settle in his lap, a
nearly obnoxious smile in Castiel’s face as he dug his heels almost painfully
into his brothers thighs, Gabe squirmed, shoving his feet away again.
“Wiser my ass.”  Cas snorted, glad for the banter, distracting him enough to
keep his mind from complete infatuation with Dean, though it did seem to be
running away on him again.  “Older, definitely.”
“And I don’t look a day over three billion.”  Gabriel retorted, “But seriously,
Cas.  It’ll happen, just be patient, he doesn’t look like the type to fall
easy.”  He added, tone softening somewhat, trying to offer some reassurance to
his little brother.
“You think so?”  Castiel asked, looking over at him, almost vulnerable.
“I know so.  Love will find a way.” Gabriel replied, a grin creeping over his
lips as he noted the little shift in his brothers expression, hopeful again,
knowing he could return to his usual banter when he was met with the usual eye
roll.  “What, too corny?”
“Even for you that was bad.”
Gabe let out a soft snort, fishing around the clutter of a side table to pick
up the television remote, flicking to some mindless reality show about
screaming sports moms.
===============================================================================
 
On Saturday morning, Dean didn’t want to get out of bed.  In fact, he stayed
buried under the sheets for a good fifteen minutes after he’d woken up, staring
at his ceiling and thinking about how close he’d been to kissing Castiel last
night.  The way they’d been so tangled up with one another, pressed so
perfectly, breathing the same breath.  The knowledge that the attraction was
mutual; they both wanted something, and it seemed like they wanted the same
something. 
Dean would have enjoyed kissing Cas.  He would have enjoyed it very much.
Finally managing to coax himself out from under the blanket, he pulled his gear
on with tired familiarity.  Shorts, jersey, shin guards, and socks.  He would
wait, as he usually did, to put his cleats on at the field.  Partly because he
didn’t want to risk getting mud and muck in his baby when he could easily avoid
it, but mostly because he’d grown out of those shoes his Freshman year, and
they were too tight on his feet.  He couldn’t afford new ones, not if he wanted
to pay the deposit for the swim team.
Trodding down the stairs, he didn’t bother being quiet, knowing that Sam would
still be over at Andy’s until later that afternoon.  Darting into the kitchen,
he snatch up his cell phone and his keys, jumping when he heard the fridge door
snap shut.  Turning, he saw John there, looking like he’d just rolled in from
the nearest pub.
“Dad,” he breathed, ignoring the way his heart had been stuttering in his
chest, half expecting it to be Cas breaking in just for kicks.  “What’s up?”
John scrubbed his hands through his hair; Dean could smell to booze on him from
across the room.  “Where’re you goin’, Dean-o?”
“Soccer practice, dad.”  He replied, inching closer.  “Are you--?”
“Soccer practice,” John snorted, giving Dean a hazy look.  “When I was in high
school, real men played football.”
Dean winced, but his father didn’t notice as he started to stumble his way out
of the kitchen and up to his bedroom.  “Our football team sucks, dad.”
John paused, glancing his way, brow furrowed as it he were confused by Dean’s
statement.  “Thas cuz you’re not on it, kid.”
Smiling to himself as John continued his precarious trek up the stairs, Dean
felt something in him warm.  He knew a compliment when he heard it, even if it
was originally just an underhanded insult about the sport he didenjoy playing. 
It wasn’t often John praised him.
Savoring the moment for a second longer, he gathered up his things and headed
for the door, not wanting to be late for practice.  The drive was short, but by
the time he got there, most of the guys were out on the grass already.  Jogging
over, he beamed at his buddy Ash, who’d recently been bumped up onto varsity
level, and took his place in the circle as they gathered around their coach. 
Looked like he’d just made it in time.
“Alright,” Coach Roman clapped his hands together-- as his namesake might hint,
he was a bit of a dick, but one that knew how to win and how to use his players
to the best advantage.  “Listen up, ladies.  We’ve got a bit of a day ahead of
us, but I’m not gonna keep you here too long because I’d like to spend my
Saturday doing something I actually like.  I want you to warm up, and then get
into the positions we practiced on Friday.  Same drills, but do them faster. 
Do them better.  Understood?”
A chorus of ‘yes sir’s echoed around the ring, and then he was dismissing them
to run around the field. 
Usually, Dean liked to take point.  He was fast, and everyone knew it.  Today,
though, Dean was perfectly fine with letting some of the other guys lead.  He
was too busy, off in his own world, and too tired to really care.  He’d save
his energy for their drills. 
Smiling to himself as he thought of Cas, he almost didn’t notice Adam Milligan
nudging into his side as they ran.  “What’s up, man?  You off in dreamland?”
“Uh, yeah.”  He huffed, already panting a little bit, warming up even in the
early morning cool.  “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t.”  Adam smirked, and Dean found he didn’t like that
look at all.  “Was he good?”
“What?”
“Castiel Novak.”  Adam supplied, giving him a knowing glance even though he
didn’t know anything at all.  “I’ve heard all the Novak’s are great in the
sack.”
Dean felt a spike of anger flare in him, and he pointedly looked ahead, turning
with the group as they rounded another corner.  “I wouldn’t know.”
“Sure you would.”  Adam scoffed, keeping up with Dean as he tried to increase
his pace.  “Come on, man.  Don’t bother denying it.  Jake saw you all over him
last night at The Shifter, and the talk going around the school-- man, oh,
man.”
“Talk?”  He asked, voice cracking slightly.  What talk?
Adam shrugged, keeping his voice low so that only Dean could hear him.  “You
know, chatter.  Rumors.  About you and him dating.  Which is funny because
you’re not dating him.  Sleeping with him, maybe--”
“I’m not sleeping with him.”
“Easy, Dean.”  Adam chuckled.  “No need to get all defensive.  I don’t care if
you’re gay.”
“I don’t care if you care that I’m gay,” he snapped with a hiss.  Sexuality was
something he was very comfortable with-- especially his own.  Guys were hot and
girls were too. 
“Listen, all I’m saying is that it’s funny that everyone is starting to think
you’re dating.”  Adam pressed, ignoring the comment.  “Because, even as the
black sheep of the Novak family, none of them would ever date you.  You may be
a pretty face, Dean, and I’m sure you can spread your legs with the best of
them-- but there’s really nothing else to you.  That’s why it’s funny.”
Dean tripped and stumbled for a second on a gopher hole, ankle protesting
sharply as something almost painful and heavy weighed in his guts at the
words.  At his tone.  At the absolute disdain Adam seemed to have for him. 
Smirking, Adam winked and kept on running as the rest of the team blew by where
Dean had faltered.
“Winchester!”  Coach Roman called from across the field, snapping Dean back
into action.  “Get your ass moving!”
===============================================================================
 
Practice Saturday had been stilted at best.  After the conversation with Adam,
he’d received a few teasing remarks from some of the other players, all of it
just adding to the sudden inadequacy he felt.  It threw him off of his game,
and he’d ended up messing up more times than he had succeeded.  A bit like his
life honestly.  And it seemed that the rest of his weekend steadily progressed
downhill from there.
One of their bills were overdue, and the electric had been cut off long enough
for their milk to spoil.  Sam had had some huge fight with his best friend, and
had cried to Dean for hours about it.  And though John was home, he was drunk
and in hiding, recluced up in his bedroom while Dean had to deal with
everything else. 
It wasn’t until Sunday evening that Dean finally got to sit down do his
homework, relax a little bit, and go through some brochures he’d picked up from
the library-- universities, small and large, local and out of state.  He was
slumped on the couch, flipping through them idly, each one looking more
interesting than the next, when his dad came seeping down the stairs, a bit
cleaner than expected. 
“What’re those?”  He asked, coming over to lean over the arm of the couch,
peering down at the papers he had in his hands and strewn across the coffee
table. 
“Um... college pamphlets.”
“College?”  John scoffed, scrubbing his hand none too gently through Dean’s
hair.  “My kid going to college?  Unlikely, Dean-o.  Unless you got those for
Sammy.
Gritting his teeth, he glared up at him.  “I got them for me.”
“Dean,” John grimaced, already shaking his head, already disapproving.  “I
don’t--”
“No.  No.  I can do this.”  Dean insisted, standing, bright eyes and hopeful as
he shoved brochures at his father.  “There are so many options, and I can apply
to a bunch and see who’ll accept me.”
“And when you get in?  Who’s gonna pay for that, Dean?”
“I am.”  He stated because he knew no one else would.  “I am and- and there are
scholarships I can apply for and--”
“Dean,” John snapped, and his son fell silent, already looking crestfallen. 
“You don’t honestly believe you can do this, can you?  I talked to your
brother, found out you were failin’ your classes.  I’m so-- I can’t even tell
you how disappointed I am in you.  Flunking out of school--”
“I’m not--”
“You really think college is gonna be any better for you?  You can barely
handle it now!  You’re practically useless and you want to go to college? 
Where you’ll waste time and money and you’ll fail?”  John growled, and Dean
felt something in him break a little bit.  “No.  Throw them away.  You don’t
need them.”
Watching as his father turned and walked away, he sank heavily back down onto
the couch, mind numb and body aching.  His dad was right.  He was a failure.
===============================================================================
 
There was a certain air of hopeful excitement just beneath Castiel's skin as he
strode through the halls, hardly perceptible, yet tangible enough to cause the
people around him to stare, mutter to each other.  For Cas to smile genuinely
was rare, let alone beam sappily at the couple greeting each other at the front
gate because maybe, just maybe --if everything went well-- he'd have that
before the month was out. 
He arrived at the library for their tutoring session on time for once, books
splayed out over the table.
After ten minutes he got a little impatient, fiddling restlessly with the cuff
of his jacket.  After half an hour, he got worried, sending out a few text
messages, just in case. 
After an hour he knew something wasn’t quite right.  It didn’t take him long to
track down the one person he trusted enough to question on Dean’s whereabouts;
Meg’s place never was hard to get into, and it was right down the street from
the school, though she was less than hospitable when he started hurling
questions.
He searched Dean out, nearly yanking Meg's arm off when she wouldn't tell him
where he'd went.
Brow furrowed, he left a slightly amused looking Meg behind, taking off towards
the fields.  Dean had a scrim-something or other, and therefore should be at
practice.  By the time Cas got there, he was panting, having run all the way
back from Meg’s house to the school, bowling over a passerby or two in the
process.
 
 
Practice hadn't been much better than Saturday's.  The teasing had been just as
bad, and Adam had been even more vicious.  In all honesty, he was being an ass
about the whole thing, and it was kind of ridiculous.
Dean felt guilty, for avoiding Castiel and for skipping his tutor session with
him.  But his self-loathing was greater than the guilt.  He didn't want to see
the one person who believed in him when he knew that he wasn't worth believing
in.
The locker room was sparse, hardly anyone left in it aside from Ash and
himself, and Dean was toweling off his hair, jeans slung low on his hips and
unbuttoned when Castiel came barging in.  Startled, he looked over with wide
eyes, panic settling low in his gut.  "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I waited for you at the library for an hour, and you didn't turn up.  Meg said
you'd be here."  He said, looking over at him.
"I had practice," he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world,
turning back to his locker.  "Now if you don't mind, I need to finish getting
changed and then I'm going home."
Any hope Cas had left drained away.  There was nothing here for him after all. 
"We had a session, and you didn't turn up.  Why not?"
"Yeah, Deanie."  Chet cackled, poking his head around the corner.  "You had a
session.  Why weren't you--?"
Ash sighed, punching Dean's shoulder as he moved away, dragging their defender
out by the ear.  "This is a conversation that requires two people, Chet.  Let's
let the grown ups work it out."
Waiting until he heard the distinct sound of the door shutting, Dean let out a
long breath, heavy and dark.  He didn't want to do this, didn't want to deal
with this.  There was a bone-deep sorrow in him, that what he had hoped for
would never be, hadn't ever had a chance.  Because Dean wasn't worth it.  He
wouldn't ever be worth it. 
Schooling his features from the broken look Dean had been wearing all day, he
turned to face him.  "I told you, I had practice, Cas."
Cas caught the way his face changed, watched as Dean became more guarded, and
his brow furrowed.  Maybe Dean had realised what he was doing and deemed it
inappropriate.  Maybe Cas didn't have a friend anymore.  "But you should have
told me.  You would have told me-- when you got back on the team.  In fact, you
said we would still keep the sessions on Mondays."                             
          
"I'm sorry," he shrugged, trying to look as uncaring as possible, something
sharp twisting in him.  "I know we talked about keeping the whole tutoring
thing going, but it's just not gonna work out.  I guess it slipped my mind.  I
really don't need it anymore anyway."
It was like all the air was knocked out of him, any purpose Cas had held gone
because he couldn't keep himself under control.  He peered at him for a moment,
searching for some kind of lie, having to clench a fist to keep from getting
emotional when there wasn't one.  "Did you at least look into colleges like you
said?" 
"No," he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.  "No, Cas.  I didn't.  And I'm
not going to.  There's no point."
"Why not?"  He demanded, brow furrowing.  "You said you would.  There's no
reason not to."
Laughing bitterly, he shook his head, holding his hands out helplessly for a
moment.  "There's every reason not to."
Castiel narrowed his eyes, glaring at him, at the bitterness there.  "Something
happened, didn't it?"
"No, nothing happened."  He glanced down, frowning, arms crossing defensively
over his chest. 
Noting the defense in his gesture, Castiel moved closer, peering at him
curiously.  "Liar."  He accused.
Looking up, Dean met his gaze, vulnerable for a brief moment before it turned
angry.  "What the fuck do you want me to say?  I'm not going to college, Cas. 
Hell, I'm not even gonna graduate high school-- I'm not going to amount to
anything.  Not ever.  So stop.  Pushing."
Cas saw the helplessness there, knowing he could find it again with the right
prompting.  Moving to stand directly in front of him, unwavering as he stared. 
"No.  You deserve betterthan this, and if you can't see it, I'll make you."
"Jesus christ--back off, Cas!  I don't-- I don't deserveanything."  He snapped,
eyes dark.  "You don't knowanything.  I don't know what you thinkyou see in me,
butit's not there!"
"This is notyou speaking."  Cas retorted, "Not three days ago you said you
would.  Why the change?"
"Because we both know what's going to happen," he echoed his father's words
from the night before, like poison at the back of his mind.  "Even if I get
into college, I'll never finish.  It'll be a waste of time and a waste of
money.  The only one going anywhere is Sam.  So why bother?"
He narrowed his eyes, advancing on him to glower in disapproval.  "You're
afraid, aren't you."  He accused, "You're afraid, and you won't face it just in
case you fail.  You're a coward."
"I am not a coward," his voice broke, and he took a step back, feeling
cornered.
"Yes, you are.  You're afraid of failing, and you won't get off your ass and
get over it because you're a coward."  He spat.
"I'm not a coward," he hissed, getting into Castiel's face, heart stammering
because it was true.  It was absolutely true.  And he was angry and scared, so
he lashed out in the only way he could.  "A coward is someone taking the easy
way out.  A cowardis taking your own life instead manning the fuck up and
facing your own family.  I am nota coward!"
Vaguely breathless, Dean glared at him, realization slow to take hold.  The
second the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them, and he stepped back
to press against the cool of the lockers, eyes wide and apologetic. 
Castiel stalled for a millisecond, process who he meant, each word cutting
deep.  With strength borne of fury, he slammed Dean up against the locker.  A
stormy kind of rage shook within him, pinning him like a butterfly to a cork
board.
"You do not talk about her that way, do you understand me."  He growled,
uncontrolled malice in his voice, the kind that promised painful ends.
"Yes," Dean breathed, voice shaking, hating that he was the one who had put
that expression on Castiel's face.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't-- I'm sorry."
Letting him drop from the lockers, Cas moved back, shaking with the effort not
to punch him, because god knows he deserved it for bringing his sister into
this.  "That's your problem, isn't it? You just don't take any chances, you
just follow along meekly with what life is giving you, and you won't dare try
for anything else."
"That-- that's not--"  He tried to argue, but most of the fight had been
knocked out of him and replaced with something a lot like resignation.  "It
doesn't matter!  Don't you get it?  Wanting something and deserving it are two
completely different things.  Why would I take a chance on something I don't
deserve?  I'm not worth it-- I'm not worth anything!  No matter how muchI may
want something."
"That's why you're a coward, right there!  Because you won't go after what you
want.  Because you're scared."  He growled, tone vehement as he advanced on
him.  "So you accept your shitty life as it is-- with your drunk father who
hits you, with your little brother who won't need you much longer, with your
dead mother-- and you don't go after what you want because that's all you think
you should get out of life.  But you deserve so much more.  If you would only
go after it!  What do you want, Dean?  What do you want?"
College.  Sam to be happy.  My dad to be sober.  My mom to be alive again. 
You.
"Everything," Dean confessed helplessly.
"Everything?"  Cas said, tone softening somewhat.  "That doesn't narrow it down
to much.  What exactly does 'everything' encompass?"
"I... I want..."  He was at a loss for words, unable to tell him what he
wanted, his feelings catching in his throat as he shook his head.  "I can't.  I
can't say it."
"Don't give me that shit!  Yes, you can, now what the fuck do you want out of
life!"  He demanded, patience running thin.
"Everything!"  Dean snapped back, glaring at him as walls came tumbling down,
words spilling forth before he could stop them.  "I want Sam to grow up and go
to a great school and do something amazing because I know he can do it.  I want
my mom back.  I want my dad to stop being a complete ass and take care of his
own goddamn kids.  I want-- I want all the puppies in the world to have a good
home.  World peace, I don’t know!  I want to go to college and have a chance at
a life better than this, but you know what?  A lot of it's never gonna happen. 
And I'm just going to bestuck in this shithole town for therest of my life. And
that scares the fuck out of me."
Dean was breathless and wide eyed, staring at him, horrified that he'd said any
of that.  "And the thing that scares me even more than that?  Is you."
He listened intently as Dean spoke, expression softening to something akin to
understanding despite the fact he'd never really know what it was like, and
sympathy would just piss him off.  He froze for a second as Dean finished,
processing what he meant carefully.
"You won't be stuck here forever, I can promise that."  Cas said, anger fading
as fast as it had risen.  "And you don't have to be afraid of me."
"Yes, I do."  He breathed, trying to make him understand, but telling him was
like pulling teeth.  "I have everyreason to be terrified out of my mind by you,
Cas.  ...Because I want you so much it's ridiculous."
Cas gave a soft snort, tilting his head in challenge.  "Then prove me wrong,
and take a chance for once in your life."
Leaning forward abruptly, Dean pressed their lips together before he could
think of anymore reasons to stop himself.
***** And I Can’t Help But Notice (You Reflect In This Heart of Mine) *****
Chapter Notes
     Happy Valentine's Day everybody!
 
Leaning forward abruptly, Dean pressed their lips together before he could
think of anymore reasons to stop himself, unceremonious and quite frankly more
clumsy than he would have liked.  It was a simple, lingering kiss-- no real
depth, just the slant of their mouths together.  A soft sound of surprise left
Castiel despite the fact he'd goaded Dean into this, not expecting him to
actually go through with it, not now of all times.  It was clumsier than he'd
expected, but Cas blamed the nerves running through them for that.  By the time
he'd kicked himself into gear and reacted Dean was pulling away, drawing a
disappointed huff out of him, and an apology was already burning at Dean’s
tongue.
Noting the look on Dean's face, Cas narrowed his eyes in mild threat.
"Dean Winchester, if you so much as thinkof apologizing, I will break your
nose."
Dean's mouth snapped shut with an audible click, a flush burning at his face
and down his neck to his chest, as he stood there.  Waiting.  For the rejection
he would undoubtedly receive.
A small smile curled Cas’ lips; reaching out slowly, his fingers brushed
Dean's, shuddering minutely with the shiver that ran up his spine.  Leaning in,
he closed the distance between them again, kissing Dean with the kind of
gentleness that one might use with a skittish colt.  He could have sworn he was
angry not five minutes ago.
Inhaling sharply, a shock ran through Dean, more than a little surprised. 
Hesitantly, his eyes fluttered shut, and he tilted his head subtly so that
their noses weren’t brushing.  Fingers tangling with Cas', his other hand came
up to sink into the soft hair at the back of Castiel's head, pressing more
insistently.  Humming softly, Castiel pressed up against him, all the tension
between them evaporating.  He was kissing Dean, after no fewer than three
attempts, he finally got to do this.  And yes, Dean was every bit as good as he
looked.
It seemed like as soon as one kiss ended, another began.  Simple presses of
their lips, both wanting to push further, but both almost frightened to. 
Fingers tightening, Dean let out a breathy sound, lips parting invitingly as
they pressed so fully together that their balance was thrown off.  Castiel
noticed them tipping, the tangle of their legs doing naught to help keep them
upright.  Scrambling to purchase on the metal of the lockers, Cas gripped onto
a handle, successfully avoiding what would have been a mood killer.  Curling an
arm around Dean, keeping him in place in case he decided running would make a
nice ending, Cas pulled back, giving him a goofy looking smile.
Dean's heart stammered, and he stared at Cas unabashedly, taking in his smile
with an avid gaze.  Breath hitching, Dean looked at him searchingly, trying to
find some kind of deceit, some kind of anything, but was too caught up in the
way his mouth was tingling to focus on anything else. 
Not wanting this moment to slip by before he could stop it, before one of them
came to their senses, Dean pressed his mouth to Castiel's again.  Almost
desperately, his free hand bunched up in the leather of his jacket, and tugged.
The pull on his coat served to spur Cas' hands into movement, fanning out over
bared skin, deciding that interrupting locker changes was a good idea-- Cas
would go so far as to say a spectacular idea.  Groaning softly, he pressed Dean
back into the lockers, hands moving over whatever was within reach, stroking at
skin, pent up frustration leaving him.  This was Dean.  This was Dean.  The
wash of relief was more like a flood, and it jarred Castiel with the intensity
of finally getting to touch him the way he wanted.
Back arching, Dean gave a soft hiss as his skin met the cool metal behind him,
and pressed into Castiel's touches.  It shook him slightly, being abruptly
pushed back and pinned in, but he couldn't be bothered to care as he parted
Cas' lips with his own, tongue flicking out tentatively.  It was heated as Dean
sank the hand not tangled in Castiel's hair underneath his jacket to pull him
impossibly closer; they were practically pawing at each other, all of that
sexual tension finally finding its outlet.
Castiel had kissed quite a few people over the short time of his high school
career, but not one of them was like Dean.  Settling a hand over his shoulder,
he squeezed softly, clinging to him for dear life as they kissed, mind spinning
at the sensation wrapped up in it.  After a long moment, Cas had to pull back,
needing to breathe again, panting as they stood close.
Almost chasing after his lips, Dean had to bite back a whine as it broke and he
realized just how out of breath he was.  Gasping faintly, he let his head fall
back against the locker, revealing an expanse of neck, heart racing in his
chest.  "What the hell are we doing?"
Taking the tilt of his head as an invitation, Cas lowered his head to brush his
lips down his neck, nipping softly in places.
"I believe the term is making out.  Two people generally engage in the practice
when romantically involved."  He said flatly, words a little muffled around
Dean's skin
His eyes widened as he felt Castiel mouth over his throat, fingers flexing in
his hair as he bit back another sound, desperate and needy because this was
just what he wanted but he was so fucking scared of it.  "Is that what we are
now?  Romantically involved?"
"Would you like to be?"  Cas asked, reluctantly pulling off his neck to look up
at him.
"I don't know."  He said earnestly, but there was heart wrenching edge to it as
he met his gaze, aware of every place Castiel was touching-- the arm barring
him in, the hand splayed at his back, their chests and hips and thighs
pressing.  "Do you?"
"I'd like to be, yeah."  He admitted, offering a shaky smile as he brushed a
hand over Dean's spine.  "I'd like that a lot."
"I don't want to fuck up something that's already good," he confessed,
untangling his fingers from his hair to drift down the back of his neck,
touching lightly and affectionately.  "I mean... I want you, but I don't want
to end up losing you as a friend when this goes south."
A faint furrow creased his brow, looking at Dean carefully.  "Then it won't go
south."  He said, as though it was the most obvious answer.
"You don't know that," he sighed, hand coming around to touch the wrinkle
between his eyebrows away.  "You can't know that."
"But I have faith."  He replied, lowering his head again, burying his face into
the crook of Dean's neck, enjoying the warmth.
"Enough for the both of us?"  He asked, eyes shutting as he savored the press
of their bodies, knowing it was probably going to be the first and last time
they were this wrapped up in one another, and needing to hold on for just a
moment longer.  "...because I don't."
"Faith for both of us."  Cas agreed, raising his head to look at Dean.  There
was no hesitation in his voice, knowing exactly what he wanted and how to get
it, in complete trust that everything would turn out just fine.
"I-- I can't, Cas."  He shook his head, expression solemn as he started to
withdraw.  "I don't think I can take that risk."
The hopeful look on Cas' face dropped abruptly, knowing a rejection when he
heard it.  "We can't ignore this."
"Ignore what?"  He asked, knowing exactly what he meant, the attraction between
them.  The feelings they had.  He tried for indifference and failed miserably.
Castiel huffed in frustration when Dean flat out tried to deny it.  "You know
exactly what I mean.  We've been dancing around this for weeks, and frankly
it’s getting frustrating."
"I'm sorry," he shrugged helplessly.  "I don't know what else you want me to
say."
Swallowing thickly, Cas backed away, straightening out his shirt from where
Dean had rumpled it.  It never would have worked anyway, they were just too
different, too far apart.
"I should be going."
"Cas, don’t--"  He cut himself off, seeing the disappointment he'd caused and
feeling it eat at him.  He knew he would do it, he just didn't know it would be
so soon.  "Are we gonna be okay?"
We were going to be just perfect.  Cas' expression went blank, trying to lessen
the sting as much as he could.  "I don't know.  Are we?"
"I want to be," he admitted softly, not moving from where Castiel had pressed
him back against the lockers, slightly disheveled, lips freshly kissed.  "I'm
sorry for missing tutoring today.  It won't happen again."
He wanted to leave, wanted never to have to see Dean's face again to save
himself from the hurt.  But he had duties, and some sick part of him would
never let him go, never forget how his lips felt, the way he smiled.
"You still missed it.  Make up the session tomorrow, same time."  He said as
emotionlessly as he could.  If they still had to meet, it would be for business
purposes only.
"Yeah," he swallowed thickly.  "Okay.  Tomorrow, at the library.  I'll be
there."
Nodding once, he left the change rooms without so much as a goodbye, vanishing
into the campus. Perhaps having friends was more trouble than it was worth.
===============================================================================
 
As a general rule, people moved slightly when Castiel walked by.  Today was no
exception; today, they parted like the Red Sea, even those who might put up a
little resistance scattered when he turned a furious glare on them, exuding the
kind of anger that was reserved for the spurned or betrayed.  He was in a bad
mood all day, and everyone knew it, though none of them knew why.  He didn't
even say hello to the librarian, simply waiting for Dean to get there so he
could get this over with and minimise all contact.  It would be easier this
way, less damage.
Dean was a bit of a nervous wreck when he walked into the library.  Pausing by
the front desk, delaying the inevitable for as long as he could, he greeted
their librarian familiarly, warmly and nodded when she asked him if he would be
coming by that Sunday for the bi-monthly reading.  He’d been doing them since
middle school, coming in and reading out loud to a small lot of younger
children and occasionally their parents.  He enjoyed doing it, and it gave him
plenty of community service hours for school.
"Of course," he grinned, charming despite his sweaty palms.  "Wouldn't miss it
for the world."
"Good," she smiled back at him and then gave him a stern look.  "Now your boy
is over there sulking.  Go fix him."
"Ms. Mosley, I think you're--"
"Go."  She snapped light heartedly.  "I don't care what you think I do and do
not understand.  I don't want him moping up the place."
"Yes, ma'am."  Dean nodded, moving off to their regular table with less
enthusiasm than necessary.  Spotting Cas, he stalled for a moment, remembering
how he'd smiled so sweetly at him after they'd kissed, and then pressed on,
blocking the image out of his mind.  Sitting unceremoniously across from him,
he pulled out his books and hesitated.  "Hey, Cas."
"Hello, Dean."  He deadpanned, ignoring the thrill that accompanied Dean’s
arrival every time they met.  This was strictly business, no matter how much
he'd like it to be different.
Dean opened and shut his mouth a few times, shoulders rolled forward, slightly
slumped as if to make himself a smaller target-- a disturbing habit for a boy
his age to have, with equally as disturbing origins.  "How was your day?"
Cas swallowed thickly, and he tried to remain curt about everything; blank
faced and steel toned.  But you could only stay mad with Dean for so long, and
the way he shied didn't do anything to help.  He just wanted to reach out and
tell him it was all okay, that they would work things out.  "Livable."
"Well, that's um...  That's good."  He said, giving him a small smile. 
"Anything interesting happen?"
"I have an appointment with Crowley tomorrow.  I'm still debating actually
going this time."  He replied with a soft snort.
Tilting his head, Dean stared at him inquisitively.  "What'd you do?"
"Skipped class a few too many times again."  He said, a small smile playing
over the edges of his lips.
Rolling his eyes fondly, he shook his head and let out a huff of a laugh. 
“You’re a very bad man, Castiel Novak.”
He couldn’t not laugh when Dean did, small, but still amused.  “I could be
worse, and Crowley picks on me.”
“How does he pick on you?”  Dean scoffed, grinning wryly.  “Is it a fashion
thing?  It’s totally a fashion thing.  He’s always wearing those well-tailored
suits-- I bet he fucking hates all of us ratty sodding gits strutting around in
our worn jeans and t-shirts.”  Clearing his throat, he sat up a bit straighter,
schooling his features into a more serious expression, a surprisingly good
accent lilting over his tongue.  “Pardon me, Mr. Novak, but do you know you’ve
worn that same ghastly leather jacket since your Freshman year-- every day, no
less.  And those trousers, really, have you glanced in a mirror you absolute,
bloody fool?”
The second Dean’s voice changed, Castiel lost it, gripping the edge of the
table to keep himself upright as he laughed, far too amused by his mocking. 
His nose crinkled as he laughed, nearly keeling over until he got a hold of
himself and chuckled to a stuttering halt.
“It’s so true though.”  Cas snickered.  “He walks around like the king of that
place.”
Dean took in the sight of him laughing avidly, tracing his features until he’d
memorized them, and tucked it away for later.  He’d never seen Castiel laugh
like that, lose himself so fully into it, and Dean found that he liked the
sight more than words could express.  “Like a peacock.”  He supplied, because
it was always what Crowley reminded him of.
Leaning against the desk, he grinned at Dean, previous anger discarded.  He
couldn’t stay mad when he was being entertained like this.  “I’ll tell him
that.”  He promised.  “Next I see him.”
“Well, don’t tell him I said it.”  Dean replied, but there was a smile still on
his face as he leaned forward on his elbows, crossing his forearms.  “But
please tell me all about how red in the face he gets when you do.”
The laugh Cas gave was almost giggle worthy as he imagined Crowley’s reaction. 
“I’ll take a photo.”  He said, grinning at the idea.  “And then maybe have it
projected onto a wall.”
“A big wall,” Dean expanded.  “Preferably in front of the entire student body.”
“The side of the gym.”  He suggested, “Leave it there for a while; if they
don’t see, there’ll be photos.”
“Exactly,” he hummed.  “I mean, a picture like that would get around.”
“He deserves it.”  Cas decided, “I’ve seen students sitting in his office
looking like they were going to shit themselves because they were late once.”
Dean nodded.  “Yeah, I know.  I’ve been there, done that, not looking to make a
return trip.”
Cas let out an annoyed huff.  “I still need to plan my Senior prank.  Haven't
got long now.”
Sort of blanching at the mention of Castiel graduating, he kept the smile on
his face, though it wobbled briefly.  Sometimes he forgot that he was the
younger party here, and that Cas would be leaving this town-- and Dean-- behind
soon.  Plastering a contemplative look on his face, he shrugged a single
shoulder.
“Have you thought about taking apart his car and reassembling it in his
office?” 
“I don’t have the skills for that, but I know this guy that does.”  He said, a
wicked smile on his face.  “I don’t think a car would quite fit in there. 
Thought about gluing the furniture to the roof, but that’s been done.”
“True, but what hasn’t?”  Dean slumped back in his chair, appearing relaxed but
still feeling like he was walking on eggshells.  “You’ve got time, though.  I
mean, it’s only November.”
“True.”  He agreed, wishing the time would speed up and slow down at the same
time.  If he graduated, he’d leave, and for the first time, he was leaving
something behind.  Shaking his head as though to clear it, he let out a sigh. 
“But we didn’t come here for that.  What do you need to do for class?”
“I kind of already did it,” he shuffled around, pulling out his assignments. 
“Just some math problems from the textbook and another vocab sheet for
English.”
Almost bashfully, Dean slid them across the desktop to him, offering up a small
smile.  He had been anxious about their session today.  He’d wanted time to
talk if Castiel would allow it, and so he’d spent his entire lunch finishing up
the assignments.
Castiel narrowed his eyes slightly, peering at him curiously as he took the
offered sheets.  “Then why are we here?”  He asked, no bite to his tone as he
read over what Dean had done.
“Because you told me to be,” he jibed, but it fell flat as he glanced down at
his hands, fidgeting slightly.  He didn’t like talking about these things. 
Didn’t like it in the least.  “And because I missed yesterday.  Because my dad
told me it was useless--” he took a deep breath, looking up to try and avoid
the burning at his eyes.  “Because, like the worthless waste of space I am, it
wouldn’t help me amount to anything when I’m going nowhere anyway.”
Castiel didn’t like Dean’s father, and this only cemented a deep set hatred. 
What kind of parent tells their child they’re useless.  A faint snarl set on
his lips, “He can take his opinion and shove it up his ass.”  He growled,
protective of his friend.  “You’re going places, Dean Winchester, even if I
have to drag you there.”
“Aw, that’s sweet.”  He laughed, almost despairingly, giving him a dry look as
he tried to play it off.  “I’m pretty heavy, though.  I think you’ll have a
hard time of it.”
“I’m stronger than I look.”  He assured, half tempted to reach out to him,
wanting to take away the damage and the hurt.
“I know,” he recalled the afternoon previous and the way Castiel had slammed
him up against the locker when he’d said the absolute wrong thing.  “Anyways,
that’s why.  That’s... what changed yesterday.”
Swallowing thickly, he looked over at him with a tentative kind of hope. 
“Think it’ll change back?”
“Cas,” he breathed, dragging a hand through his hair.  “I-- The college thing,
yeah.  It’s definitely back on the table-- I don’t think it’ll happen, but I
won’t stop trying.  Maybe I’ll just go to community college or a two year
program or something.  But um...”  He blushed, crossing an arm over his chest
self-consciously.  “I don’t... Maybe.  The other thing.  Maybe.”
Nodding slowly in understanding, Castiel took it as a victory, a small smile on
his face.  “Maybe is good.”  He said hesitantly.
“Yeah,” he nudged at Cas' foot, just barely, eyes straying to the table. 
“Maybe is um... good.”
Castiel’s smile widened as a foot nudged his.  It wasn’t what he was after, but
he’d take what he could get.  Going back to his reading, he took a moment to
worry over the spelling, debating over whether consensus had an I in it.
“When did you say you did this again?”
“I didn’t,” he replied, glancing back up and feeling something in him flutter
at the sight of the smile on Castiel’s face, still there as if he didn’t know
it was on his face.  “But lunch.  I did it at lunch.”
“You’d think you were trying to get me to talk to you for an hour and a half.” 
He said, raising an eyebrow, a certain playfulness in his tone.
“It’s--” he cleared his throat, fidgeting with a pen.  “It’s a genuine
possibility.  I thought it would take longer.  Or not at all.”
“You underestimate your powers of persuasion.”  Cas said, a little quieter than
usual.
Wincing slightly, though he knew it wasn’t meant to be a barb, he let out a
soft sigh.  “Is it always gonna be like this, now?”
“Like what?” He asked, curious as to why Dean had flinched.
“Like we’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop?”
Castiel let out a long sigh, slumping a little in his chair.  “Probably.”  He
admitted, pushing back Dean’s papers.  “If I can’t help you with anything else,
I should get going.”
Catching Cas' wrist as he pulled his hands back, Dean gave him a pleading
look.  “Cas, please.  I said I couldn’t because I didn’t want to fuck things
up.  Tell me I didn’t fuck it up anyways.”
He stalled as Dean reached out, holding his gaze evenly for a moment.  “You
didn’t fuck it up, and you won’t.”  He said, “I just wish you could see that.”
“Then why do you keep leaving?”  His grip tightened, just barely, hand warm
around his wrist.
“Because it’s easier.”  Cas said flatly, wanting to jerk his hand away and
forget this ever happened, the warmth of the hand around his wrist keeping him
from leaving entirely.  Slowly, he twisted his hand, curling them together,
fingers lacing, hoping he wouldn’t scare Dean away.
Watching silently, breath hitching, Dean's expression eased slightly as their
fingers threaded together.  He should have pulled away already.  He shouldn’t
have been sitting there, holding hands with Castiel.  It would just make it
harder.  Things were already tense as it was; he could only imagine how bad it
was going to be now, every touch igniting something in him.
Swallowing thickly, Dean gave a reluctant squeeze, hating how perfectly their
hands fit together.  Brushing his thumb over the side of Cas' hand, Dean
worried his lower lip between his teeth, terrified as he sat there.  Because as
good as it could be, it could also be one of the worst things to ever happen to
them.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he murmured, but didn’t pull his hand away.
“Why not?”  Cas asked, moving his other hand to cup around Dean’s.  “We’ll be
okay; there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Yes, there is.”  He sighed, staring at their conjoined hands, wishing there
was a way to keep them like that forever.  Taking a deep breath, he gave him a
wry look.  “Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but I’m really
fucked up.”
“So am I, what’s your point?”  He countered, stroking over the top of his hand
slowly, enjoying the steady warmth of it in his.
"My point is," Dean shuddered, eyes drawing back to where Castiel was touching
him so gently.  So sweetly.  "That we're stupid, and we shouldn't be doing this
because I'm just going to screw up and hurt you.  You said I wasn't going to
disappoint you, remember?  But if we do this?  I will.  I know I will."
He leant forward on the desk, hands clamping onto Dean's to keep him from
running away.  "You will notdisappoint me, understand?"  He said, in complete
trust of Dean's abilities.  "I'd like to try."
Dean stared at him for a long moment, eyes searching his, wishing nothing more
than to believe him.  To have the kind of faith in himself that Castiel seemed
to have.  He didn't try and pull away, though he was itching to, but he sat
there rigidly-- caught up in him and absolutely terrified of it.  Jaw flexing,
he debated over his next words.  Cas wanted to try.  Cas wanted him.
Do I really want to see that look on his face again when I say no?  He frowned,
fingers tightening around Castiel's reflexively.  Or do I want to see a worse
expression when I finally ruin this beyond repair?
"Let me think about it," he finally blurted, appearing flustered as he did.  "I
just-- I don't wanna jump into this thing blind when it could just be hormones
or- or sexual attraction confused with feelings brought on by intense
empathy."  He knew they were lame excuses, but he also knew he needed time to
think.  Time to decide if he wanted to risk hurting Castiel.
Dean leaned forward too, free hand slipping over to where Castiel was holding
his prisoner, brushing fingertips along surprisingly soft skin.  "Let me think
about it.  Give me a little while to decide.  Wait with me until we're both
sure it's what we want.  It could be a day.  It could be a week.  But, um,
this?"  He glanced down to their hands and back up, faintly flush.  "It's
okay.  We can-- I don't mind doing stuff like this.  In fact it'll probably
help suss everything out.  So if you want, we can do this and- and, ya know,
things like it until we're sure."
At this point, it was as close to a 'yes' as Cas was going to get, a contented
smile on his face as Dean spoke, not having the heart to call him out for his
stupid excuses.  If it was only lust, he would have bedded Dean by now, leaving
him high and dry-- and he was quitesure that intense empathy didn't make you
want to kiss someone senseless.
"I can wait."  He said, voice dropping to the kind of quiet that didn't fit his
exterior, loosening his grip on Dean's hand as its pair rested over his.  The
more he thought about it, the better he liked the solution until he wore this
intimate little smile that just curved his lips.  "And if it takes a year, then
I'll have to be patient."
Something in him warmed at the proclamation, and Dean smiled in return. 
"Okay.  Then that's what we'll do.  Kind of like a uh, trial period.  A test
drive, of sorts."
He gave a soft snort of laughter at the explanation, squeezing Dean's hand
gently.  "And if it works, then I get to keep you."
"Keep me?"  Dean chuckled derisively, though there was a tug in his stomach at
the words, a lot like lust.  "What are you gonna do, tattoo your claim on me? 
Give me a collar to wear around?"
For a moment, Castiel considered the possibility, a smirk curved his lips and
he leant forward a little.  "I didn't think you'd be the type for all that, but
I'm willing if you are."
Face going blank, he blinked at him a few times before that blush was climbing
back onto his face, redder than ever.
Cas laughed at his blushing, tapping at the top of his hand.  "I'm kidding."
"Oh," he cleared his throat, looking far too flustered and sounding far too
disappointed than he would have liked.  "I knew that."
Castiel’s teasing smile softened into something affectionate, lifting their
hands and brushing his lips over the top of Dean's hand.
"Oh, my god."  He breathed, a bemused but affectionate smile curling on his
lips.  "You're a giant sap and I had no idea."
"Sh!  You'll ruin my reputation."  Castiel warned, tone light hearted.
"Cas," he gave him a pointedly dry look.  "You just kissed the back of my
hand.  I don't need to say anything, you're ruining your reputation for
yourself."
"Oh, you know what I mean."  He said, giving a quick check around him to ensure
no one was watching.  It wouldn't do for him to be seen engaging in such
blatant affections.
Seeing the way Castiel glanced about the library, Dean slowly pulled his hands
back to himself, missing the heat of fingers tangled with his instantly.  He
didn't want to, but judging by the mildly cautious look on Castiel's face, he
didn't want to be caught out and giving soft touches to Dean of all people. 
"Yeah, okay."  He smiled, but it almost grim in its nature.  Which was
ridiculous considering they weren't even dating.  Not really.  Not yet.  "I'll
keep your teddy bear side on the DL."
The instant Dean pulled away he regretted even mentioning it.  What was a
reputation in comparison to the slightly calloused pads of his fingers, a
little sweaty, but warm in all senses of the word?
"I didn't mean it that way."  He mumbled, placing a hand in the middle of the
table as though it would coax Dean's back.
"Yeah, you did."  He stared at long fingers, tracing the line of them-- Dean
had never found hands attractive, but Castiel had some lovely ones.  Shifting
his minutely, he let their fingertips brush-- nothing more-- so that if someone
were to pass by and see, they would think nothing of it.  "But that's okay. 
Test drive, remember?"
"Yeah, test drive."  He said, quiet as he watched their hands brush.  He wanted
to just be able to pick Dean up and never let him go.  He always had been
affectionate for those that earned it.
"How's it riding so far?"  Dean teased lightly, glancing up at him, coy and a
bit timid as he dragged a finger down the length of one of Castiel's.
"Just fine.  A little bumpy sometimes though."  He replied, playful despite the
timid tone of Dean's voice.
Dean hummed, nodding in understanding.  "Well, I never did promise it would be
smooth.  We can stop whenever you like."
"It wouldn't be worth it if it was easy."  Castiel replied.
"No."  He grinned, broad and adoring.  "No, I suppose it wouldn't--"
The chirping of his cell phone had Dean scrambling, knees knocking into the
table and creating a clatter of shuffling books.  Bashfully, he dug around for
it in his backpack, whispering apologies to the few people who were glaring
over at him.  If Ms. Mosley had been close by she would have had his head. 
Tugging his cell out, he hit the talk button and held it to his ear.  "Hello?"
"Dean?  Are you picking me up today?"
"Yeah, of course, why?  What's goin' on?  You need me to swing by early--?"
"Breathe, jerk."  Sam huffed, and Dean knew he was rolling his eyes on the
other line-- it brought a smile to his lips.  "Can I bring someone home with
me?"
"Sure, Andy can come--"
"Not Andy.  A girl.  Can I bring home a girl?"
Dean blinked, jaw dropping slightly, and he was suddenly at a loss for words. 
When did Sam start liking girls?  When did they stop having cooties?  When had
his baby brother grown up enough to want to bring a girl over, and to feel the
need to ask Dean about it-- which could only mean one thing: that he liked her-
- while sounding so very nervous?  Glancing over at Castiel, as if he knew what
was happening and knew how to explain it to Dean, he nudged his foot under the
table.  "A girl?"
For a moment, Castiel was lost completely, a faint murmur on the other end of
Dean’s phone doing nothing to assist his understanding.  As Dean spoke, clarity
struck him, a slow smile curling his lips.  Little Sam had a girlfriend. 
Chuckling quietly, he nudged back at Dean's foot, hoping to reassure him.
"No, Dean, a Sasquatch. Yes, a girl."
"What's her name?"  He replied quickly.
"Does it matter?  Dean,please?"  Dean swallowed thickly at the desperation in
his little brother's voice.  He couldn't imagine what little thirteen year old
had Sam wrapped around her finger so tightly, but he knew in that instant that
he needed to meet her.
"Yeah, okay."  He cleared his throat, feeling oddly ansty about meeting his
little brother's first squeeze.  "Pick you up in thirty?"
"Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"
"Whatever," he huffed out a faint laugh.  "Go hang out with your girlfriend."
"She's afriendthat's agirl." Sam insisted, but Dean could hear the smile.  "You
go hang out with yourboyfriend."
Dean practically choked on his own tongue, stuttering over a denial when the
line went dead.  Pulling the phone away, he stared down at it, gawking.  "He
hung up on me."
Cas tilted his head in mild confusion as Dean spluttered, a faint smile on his
face at the put-out expression his friend was wearing.  "What did he say?"
"Nothing," he muttered, but the blush said otherwise.
Raising an eyebrow in disbelief, Castiel leaned in a little, giving him a
pointed look.  "Nothing.  Of course."  He said dryly, subtly prying.
"Sam might've... insinuated that you and I are more than just friends."  Dean
rolled his eyes, laughing nervously.  "Which, is ridiculous because we weren't
dating until-- well, we aren't dating."
A grin lit up his face, overly pleased that it he had Sam's approval.  "Not
yet, at least."
"Youare counting your chickens before they hatch," but he was smiling, laughter
staining his lips.  "But, in retrospect, I can see where he's coming from.  We
have done some pretty... date-like things."
Cas nodded in agreement, returning his smile.  "But I'm quite sure they'll all
hatch."
"Cocky," he accused.
"Well informed."  Cas countered.
Leaning in, Dean smirked.  "Egotistical."
"A good judge of character."
"Arrogant."  He bumped the toe of his shoe against Castiel's.
Huffing softly, Castiel rolled his eyes.  "Okay, maybe a little."
Laughing, he let his foot rest over the top of Castiel's, grinning
triumphantly.  "At least you're honest about it."
Giving him a flat look, Cas was content to sit there with him despite the mild
teasing.  "What time do you have to get Sam?"
Glancing down at his watch, he made a face.  "Probably about twenty minutes." 
Schooling his features, he glanced up, all nonchalance.  "Why?  You thinking
about a quickie in the stacks?"
Raising an eyebrow, Castiel considered it for a moment, a tempting offer
despite the inappropriate nature.  "I think the librarian would kill us."
"Missouri does know everything that happens in her library," Dean conceded with
an overly dramatic sigh, grinning at him.  "But, hey, food for thought."
Humming his agreement, Cas let a soft smirk curve his lips, entertaining the
idea for a moment, a flush finding it way up onto his cheeks.
Dean's eyes flashed and he leaned in just a little more, voice lowering to a
seductive husk.  "What's on your mind, Cas?  Me pressing you against the
shelves, or you pressing me?"
"Both are very tempting.  But I don't think we can fit both into twenty
minutes."  He replied, eyes a little glazed as he thought it through, wondering
if Dean felt as good as he suspected he would.
"No," he breathed, lips curling lopsidedly.  "I suppose we couldn't.  Some
other time then."
"Some other time."  He agreed, knowing it was just banter despite the sincerity
in his own tone.
Grinning, almost to himself, Dean glanced down and then back up, something warm
unfurling in him.  Maybe this could be something.  "You think about that stuff
often?  With me?"
Cas hesitated for a moment, swallowing thickly and avoiding his gaze. 
"Sometimes, yeah."
"Seriously?"  Dean asked, disbelief tainting his voice, nudging at his foot
again as he tried to catch his eyes.  "Like, seriouslyseriously?"
"Yeah."  Cas said quietly, looking up at him a little sheepish.  "Don't look at
me like that!"
"Like what?  I'm just surprised is all," he backed off a little, and if he
wasn't so busy feeling his face burn, he would have found the situation
entirely too amusing for words.  Biting his lower lip, he studied Castiel for a
moment, brushing their fingers together.  "...I thought I was the only one."
"Really?"  Cas asked, tentative as he looked up at him.  Maybe there was a
little more to this than a trial run after all.
"Sometimes.  I mean, once or twice."  Dean huffed, his turn to glance away. 
"Don't sound so shocked.  Have you seen you?"
"I could say the same about you.  I mean, come on...  It's hard not to think
about it."  He mumbled, nudging at his fingers again.
"Since before or after we started tutoring?"  He asked curiously, shifting so
that he could flip his hand over, palm up like an offering.
Moving his hand to fit over Dean's almost without thinking about it, Cas gave a
stiff shrug.  "After.  Didn't really know you before that."
"Oh," he nodded, as if taking the information with interest, but the way he
broke their gaze was almost guilty.  "That's-- That's cool."
Stroking over his wrist carefully, Cas offered a small smile, hoping to break
Dean's embarrassment.
"...before," he said, barely a mutter, watching the way his fingers brushed
over his wrist.  "Once.  Or twice.  Before."
Raising an eyebrow, Cas couldn't help but preen a little, chest puffing out. 
"Really?"
Pursing his lips, he sighed.  "Yeah.  You're kind of a wet dream on legs, Cas. 
With that whole bad boy thing going?”
Chuckling softly, he tugging at his hand playfully.  "I'll have to remember
that."
Groaning into his free hand, hiding his face, he shook his head.  "Please,
don't."  Dean said, half-serious and smiling like a fool.
Tugging at his hand again, Castiel grinned at him.  "I will.  And I’ll bring it
up when you least expect it."
"Ass," he said with no venom, peering at him between his fingertips before he
dropped it away with a regretful sigh.  "I have to go."
Disappointment welled up in him, making a soft little sound of complaint in the
back of his throat.  "Good luck with your brother’s little girlfriend."  He
said, letting go of his hand reluctantly.
Beaming, still nervous about the whole thing but also excited, he gathered up
his things and then paused.  Hesitating as he stood, he rounded the short end
of the table, and came to a stop by Castiel's side.  Reaching out, he slid his
fingers along the length of his jaw, trembling just slightly.  "Close your
eyes."
Looking up at him for a confused moment, Castiel did as asked, heart rate
rising as he figured out where this was leading.
Dean swallowed audibly-- it was so different, kissing someone when it wasn't in
the moment, when it might actually mean something-- and leaned in.  He brushed
his lips across his cheek, pressing a lingering kiss to his skin, just barely
touching the corner of his mouth.  Like a tease.  Pulling back, he cleared his
throat and stood up straight, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in his shirt.
"Right," he said, voice wavering.  "If that's all, I should get gone."
As he felt lips brush near his lips, Cas let out a soft hum, contented as he
felt Dean pull away, opening his eyes to look up at him, a certain softness in
his gaze.  "I'll walk you out."  He offered.
From behind her desk, as the two of them walked by, Miss Missouri Mosley
cheered silently.
***** It’s Just a Kiss Away *****
Chapter Notes
     WARNING: depictions of alcohol abuse, depictions of child abuse,
     sexual situations, and down right schmoopiness
 
Normally, Dean would have been aware of it weeks ahead of time.  He would have
known it was coming; he would have been far more prepared.  As it was, he’d
been distracted-- too busy with school, with the upcoming game, with Castiel-
- and had almost completely forgotten about it.  It made his gut churn and
twist with guilt when he realized that he’d all but forgotten.  The ugly
reminder came the night before the anniversary, in the form of their front door
banging open, followed by the sound of shattering glass.  Dean had been up
late, studying for an exam he had to take early due to the away match he had to
leave class early for, and had startled almost violently at the sound. 
Holding his breath, he listened in complete silence from his bedroom, moving
over to the doorway and tilting his head as if it would help him catch noise
better.  When he heard a familiar grumbling downstairs, he didn’t relax. 
Taking a shuddering lungful of air, he moved quietly across the hall, opening
Sam’s door a crack and finding him fast asleep under the covers, one leg
sprawled out from beneath.  Gritting his teeth, he shut the door again, and
prayed that he would sleep through whatever happened next.
Making his way down the stairs, he meandered into the kitchen, hesitating in
the entryway when he caught sight of his father fumbling with the cap of
another bottle of Jack that replaced the one that he broken against the tiles. 
He swallowed thickly, not wanting to confront him, but knowing he should.  That
he should get him into bed before he did anymore damage.
“Dad?”
John turned, eyes bloodshot and hazy, like he wasn’t really seeing him.  “Go
‘way.”
“Dad,” he sighed, inching into the room, avoiding the bits of jagged glass that
littered the floor.  “Come on, I’m sure you’re tired.”
“I’m not sleepin’.  Not today.”  He groused, finally peeling open the bottle
and bringing it to his lips. 
Dean’s brows drew together.  “Why not today, dad?”
“You don’t remember what today is?”  John hissed, a look of disgust flitting
over his face before it was replaced with a half-broken one.  “Kitchen still
smells like her.  Know you remember that.”
It was like the wind got knocked out of him, eyes widening in something a lot
like horror.  November sixteenth.  It was November sixteenth and Dean had
completely forgot-- so wrapped up in everything else, so stupid, so careless. 
It was the day he’d found Mary lying in the kitchen, hair sprawled out like a
halo around her head, smoke filling the room.
“Dad,” his voice broken and he drew a bit closer.  “Let’s get you upstairs
okay?  You don’t have to sleep, just--”
The back hand, though clumsy, came out of nowhere and liquor sloshed over his
face and his shirt as knuckles struck him across the mouth.  “What have I said
about tellin’ me what to do?”
Stumbling back, his fingers came up shakily to his lips, and he could taste the
blood before he saw it.  He wanted to run.  Wanted to go upstairs, get Sam, and
just take off.  But there’s was a hand in his shirt that stopped him, tugged
him close, and he trembled as his father fumed.  Because John couldn’t bebroken
and wounded, lost without the love of his life-- he had to be angry about it. 
He always had, and Dean suspected he always would.
And then there was another blow, this one right across his cheek, and it left
him sprawling backwards, out of his grip.  It would bruise, he knew it would,
and he took another step back, crying out as glass wedged its way into the ball
of Dean’s foot.  Falling back, he landed harshly on his ass, tears burning at
his eyes as blood seeped down his heel and onto the floor.
His pained shout seemed to snap John out of his rage, his father’s eyes going
wide and worried as he quickly knelt down in front of him, bottle of Jack
clattering but not breaking as his hands hovered over Dean.  “I’m sorry.  I’m
sorry.  I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry.”
Still shaking, Dean stared at him, wary as his dad inched forward on his knees,
rough hands cupping his face gingerly.  Dean’s lips trembled, teeth almost
chattering, and he gripped hopelessly at the floor as his foot gave a
resounding throb. 
John pet his hair clumsily, looking more worse for wear than Dean had seen him
in years, tears slipping down his father’s face and leaving tracks through the
grime in their wake.  “You look so much like her sometimes, Dean-o.  More and
more each year.  Sometimes I just-- I don’t mean to-- I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said, but his voice was strained, and it wasn’t okay.  It
definitely wasn’t okay.  “It’s okay.  I’m okay.  I’ll be fine.  I know you
didn’t mean to.”
“I’m sorry,” he all but sobbed again, pulling Dean close and hugging him tight;
Dean shuddered, but pat him on the back soothingly, letting him cry for a
moment, offering comfort as John apologized over and over, words muffled
against his skin, until he got hold of himself again.
Easing out of his arms, Dean gave him a weak smile as John stared at him
blearily.  “Go get some rest, dad.”
“Yeah,” he breathed, stumbling to his feet, bottle --forgotten and half empty-
- laying sideways on the floor and spilling out as he started towards the
stairs.  “Yeah, okay.  G’night, kiddo.”
“Night, dad.”  He croaked as affectionately as he could, waiting until he heard
the familiar snap of John’s door shutting and locking before he finally let
himself dissolve into tears, sobbing into his hands as he sat there in the
middle of a mess, remembering nothing but those dazed green eyes staring
blankly at him.
===============================================================================
 
With a slightly dazed expression, Castiel sat in class, what was a generally
stoic face lit up seemingly from within.  His recent penchant for sleepy
looking smiles in the presence of a certain junior had piqued much interest
within a large portion of the schools populous, some even going as far as to
attempt conversation, easily brushed off with a warning glare.
Leaning his hand against the palm of his hand, Castiel let out a soft sigh,
nearly absent as he waited, leg jiggling under the table impatiently as he
counted each and every tick of the clock, impatient as he waited for what
seemed an age for the bell to go.  A near affectionate smile quirked his lips,
recalling the warm press of Dean's body, stark contrast to the cold metal of
the lockers that Cas had pushed him up against.  The rest of the week had been
nothing short of agony, fleeting touches, tease that never sated the rush of
heat that accompanied each touch he was given.  Cold showers had been an,
unfortunately, recurring practice.
The old school bell tacked to the wall rattled into clamouring life, ringing
clear through the class.  Before its short blare ended, Cas was out of his
chair, bag on his back and out the door, near running down the hallway to
Dean's locker.  He waited there, surprisingly patient despite the buzz running
through him, addicted to Dean's presence, his smile, his voice, and needing his
fix.
Time passed; at five minutes, he was mildly concerned.  After ten, he was down
right anxious.  Dean was supposed to be here, just like he said.  People
thinned to near none, and he was still waiting, fidgety now, peering down the
rapidly clearing corridors.  Where was he?
Letting out a frustrated sigh, he ticked over options in his head; no teacher
would keep Dean in for that long, positive or otherwise, he'd seen Garth pass
by not so long ago, knocking out the possibility of his other friends
interfering.  Casting one final glance back to Dean's locker, he took off
again, out of the campus building and down to the car park.
Meg never was hard to find if you knew where to look, one of the few people Cas
trusted enough to question because frankly Dean should have been there, and he
was getting worried.  As per usual, Meg made no attempt to blend, the familiar
cock of her hip pointing her out in the sparse crowd of the parking lot. 
Jogging up, he skidded to a halt directly in front of her, nearly crashing into
Charlie in the process, muttering a quick apology to his tentative friend.
"Where is he?"  Cas demanded, tugging at the sleeve of her jacket in a childish
gesture he'd picked up around her years ago.  To his question, Meg’s features
fell blank, shrugging her jacket sleeve away easily, as she always has when Cas
got demanding like this.
"Don't know who you're talking about."  She said, following the promise she'd
made Dean.  His mother was not to be spoken about.  Castiel narrowed his eyes
at her, head tilting ever so slightly as he read her.
"Yes, you do."  He said pointedly, receiving a tight lipped glare from Meg. 
Knowing he wouldn't get any kind of help from her, Castiel turned his
attentions to Charlie, who had backed off a little, watching their interaction
with a little wariness.
"And so do you."  Cas said to her, expression loosing some of its annoyance,
tone softening.  "He was supposed to be here."
Charlie shifted a little, looking briefly at Meg.  "It's the sixteenth.  He'll
be at the cemetery…  Probably."  She said, reluctant, though she knew Cas meant
no harm.
He didn't wait for anything further, having the location he needed, mumbling a
soft but surprisingly genuine thanks, Cas took off again, knowing it would take
him time to travel that far on his own.
===============================================================================
 
Dean's foot still hurt. 
He'd pried the glass out hours ago and bandaged it up, but it still hurt.  Like
a dull, aching throb.  Constant and annoying.  Huffing, he brought the bottle
to his lips, gripping it loosely around the neck.  He'd plucked it off the
floor after he'd called Bobby, needing to clean the place up before he got
there.  He didn't want to have to explain all of the blood and glass anymore
than he had to explain the split lip.  The conversation was clipped, like the
old man had been expecting the call, and he said he'd be right over.  Dean
needed him to take Sam to school because he couldn't do it himself.  Not today.
The liquor burned on its way down, and he stared ahead at the tombstone-- shiny
and marbled, gleaming in the light that filtered through the leaves-
- komorebi. Picking at the grass by his side idly, he heard the footsteps
before he saw a person, and figured it was Jody or Bobby coming to check on
him.
"You know," he faltered for a moment, pulling one leg to tuck underneath
himself but leaving the other out, not wanting to aggravate the wound in his
foot further.  "It's only been ten years, and I nearly forgot."
"You never forget.  Not really."  Cas said after a moment, sitting down next to
Dean, hoping he could coax him out of the cemetery.
"Oh," he sighed, looking over at him, sort of dazed in his shock, brow
furrowing-- he winced when the movement aggravated the bruise purpling beneath
his eye.  "Hi.  What're you doing here?"
His brow furrowed in concern when he saw the state of Dean's face, having a
vague idea of who caused it, anger curling in his gut.  "Who did this?"
"No one," he replied, hazily misinterpreting what he was asking.  "It was
natural causes.  Cerebral aneurism.  I found her-- I was the one who found
her."
In any other circumstance, he would have been frustrated at Dean for
misunderstanding, but he let it slide in favour of shifting a little closer. 
He didn't know what to say, or how to make him feel any better, carefully
curling an arm around his shoulders, silent as he tried to offer some kind of
comfort.  Dean shivered, pressing close into his side and welcoming the warmth
of his body with a soft hum.  He'd been sitting out there all day in nothing
but jeans and a ratty T-shirt, cold outside, but offset by the heat of
alcohol.  He sniffled pitifully, taking another long pull from the bottle in
his hand.
"I was eight.  I was the only one who saw her like that.  On the kitchen floor
like that."  His breath caught and broke.  "She kept staring at me."
Squeezing his shoulders softly, Cas held him as best he could considering his
position, letting him lean as much as he wanted.
"How long have you been here?"  He asked gently.
"I dunno," Dean replied, looking back over at him, eyes bloodshot from his
crying.  "Since Sammy left for school.  I'm cold.  Do you think she's cold?"
"No."  He replied, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.  He knew it was a bit
of a lie; Death was a very cold thing.  "Do you believe in Heaven, Dean?"
“No."  He echoed, soft and hollow.  "If there was a God, he wouldn't have taken
her.  He wouldn't have left me and Sam all alone with my dad.  He wouldn't have
driven my dad to drinking because when he drinks he--"  his voice cracked and
he cleared his throat, feeling a fresh wave of tears threatening to overtake
him.
“God can only keep the balance."  Cas told him, voice quiet to keep from
spooking him.  He didn't comment any further as Dean broke off, afraid of
walking into territory he wasn't welcome in.
"How is this balanced?"  He asked, burying closer, grip tightening around the
neck of the bottle.
"Because we can't know happiness without sadness."  He replied, careful to keep
Dean from the bottle he clutched.
"That's poignant," he said, as if impressed before he gave him an unamused
stare.  "And fuckin' stupid."
Cas gave a soft snort of laughter, slightly hollow.  "Yeah, I know."
Falling silent for a long moment, Dean stared at the grave marker, face turning
as his expression soured into something broken hearted.  "I was the last one to
see her eyes.  I closed 'em, didn't want her staring at everybody, didn't want
her soul to escape through them.  Called the police, and then they took her
away.  Sometimes when I walk into the kitchen, she's still laying there."
Castiel didn't know what to say to that.  He couldn't offer any kind of
sympathy without sounding ridiculous.  He let Dean sit there for a while,
carefully easing the bottle out of his hand, hoping he was too wrapped up in
his memories to notice.
"We should go."  Cas said softly.
"I don't want to," he hitched out, sniffling again.  "I don't wanna leave her."
Reluctantly, Cas nodded, knowing Dean needed time for this, even if it was
unhealthy.  Depositing the bottle of Jack as far away from Dean as possible, he
rubbed soothingly at his shoulder, set to wait all day with him if he had to.
After a while, Dean let his head lull against his shoulder, and he shivered as
the cool really started to seep in.  He gripped at Cas' pant leg, almost
desperate, needing him close and finding a grounding sort of assurance in him. 
When the thoughts and the memories and the what-ifs started to take too large
of a tole, he whimpered and buried his face against his neck, pressing closer. 
Carefully, Cas pulled away, tugging off his jacket and draping it over Dean's
shoulders, deeming him in more need of the warmth.  Returning to hold him,
Castiel laid a hand over the one curled into his pant leg, holding him up as he
pressed close, mumbling soft little things into his ear, affections and
assurances.
"Can we go now?"  Dean asked, voice muffled but broken.  "I think I want to go
now."
"We can go now."  Cas told him, moving to stand in front of him, offering a
hand to help him up.
Taking his hand, he stood on shaking legs and then gave a sharp hiss of pain
when weight settled on his injured foot.  Bracing himself on Castiel's arms, he
sighed, head hanging as his foot gave a resounding throb.  "I don't want to go
home."
He caught Dean all but instantly, hooking his arm around shoulders to keep him
upright.  Castiel made a mental note to ask why he was limping later.  "I'll
take you back to my place."  He said softly, guiding him away from the grave,
leaving the bottle in their wake.
===============================================================================
 
Generally, Gabriel didn't expect his brother home until late, but a phone call
from his brother's school administrator --neatly dealt with in a near flawless
Swedish accent as per usual--  alerted him to some kind of trouble for Cas, or
at least another walk out.  His worried pacing was cut off by the chirp of his
phone, fumbling to find a message from his little brother that simply read:
I'm bringing Dean back with me. - C
He could practically hear the flat tone in his brother voice.  His worry faded
as fast as it had come by, eager to unleash the hell that was Cas' baby stories
on his not-quite-boyfriend.  Gabriel was about to holler a greeting from his
room when heard the door open, sticking his head through to see them, the
warning look Castiel pinned him with abruptly told him to shut up and play
nice.  His brow furrowed as his little brother all but carried a frankly ill
looking Dean through the door. 
Dean was clutching at Castiel's shirt, limping along as his friend supported
him easily, warm but tired.  He felt kind of woozy.  His foot hurt, and his
face hurt.  He wanted another drink.  It only took him a second to realize he'd
said most of that out loud.
"You're not having another drink."  Cas said flatly, leading him around the
clutter of his apartment and into a small but perfectly functional bedroom. 
"And I can tend to your wounds later."
"Why can't I have another drink?"  He asked, in half a whine, stumbling
slightly before he spotted the bed and started trying to lead the way over to
it. 
Letting Dean go as he pleased, Castiel gave him a near stern look.  "Because
you've had enough."
Flopping down onto the sheets, slightly askew as they were, Dean huffed out a
breath but his words were muffled against a pillow that smelled like Castiel. 
"God, you are such a downer!"
Settling onto the edge of his bed, Castiel gave a mild shrug, letting Dean
complain as much as he liked.  "One of us has to keep you in control of your
facilities."
"I am in perfect control of myself, thankyouverymuch."  He groused, peering
over at him, face still half-buried in Castiel's pillow.  Eyes flitted over
him, and he reached out, clutching at his shirt again and gave a soft tug. 
"You should c'mere."
"Of course you are."  Cas grunted, not arguing when his shirt was tugged at,
laying down beside him though he kept a slight distance.
This was the kind of opportunity Gabriel had been waiting weeks for, and he
wasn't going to let it pass up because Dean was having a bad day.  Poking his
head around the door frame, he gave a near cheshire grin.  "So, can I interest
you two in some candles?  Roses?  Lube?"
Dean's head popped up, hair sticking up in endearing tufts as he stared over at
him-- the only thing that made his expression any less adorable were the
bruises on his face.  "Booze-- hey!"  He grinned lopsidedly, ignoring the
twinge of his split lip.  "I know you!"
Castiel glared heatedly at his brother, though it was ignored by the elder
party who had decided three was indeed nota crowd, perching on the end of Cas'
bed.
 "Yes, you do."  Gabriel said, smile dropping for a moment, "But let’s forget
about that, shall we?"
"Why?"  He asked, purely innocent, rolling over and pushing himself up so that
he could sit and lean back against the headboard.  "It was fun.  It was funny."
Casting a slightly wary glance to the now glowering Castiel, Gabriel gave a
shrug.  "Funny is my speciality."  He said, trying not to 'aw' at the hand Cas
placed on Dean's shoulder, gentle caution.
"It is?"  Dean asked curiously, hand retangling in Castiel's shirt. 
"Uh-huh."  Gabriel replied, watching the way they interacted and shifting a
little uncomfortably, not used to his brother displaying that kind of intimacy
and actually meaning it.
"That's cool."  Dean hummed, letting his eyes close for a brief moment, feeling
warm and safe sitting in Castiel's bed-- surrounded by the smell of him and all
of the things that Cas liked.  When he gazed at Gabriel again, he nudged him
with his foot.  "So, how about that booze?"
"Uh, there's some in th--"
"No, thank you."  Cas snapped, tone boding no argument as he gave his brother a
very pointed look, jerking his head in gesture for him to leave.  With a long
suffering sigh, Gabriel got up, ambling out of the room.
"Party pooper!"  He accused, sticking his tongue out at his little brother.
"That's what I said," he grinned over at Cas, playfully and drunkenly
accusing.  "Killjoy."
"You'll thank me in the morning."  Cas said, squirming a little to get
comfortable.
Wiggling, Dean laid back down, turning to face him and pressing a bit closer. 
Staring at him, he smiled softly, reaching out to touch his jaw.  "You've got
pretty eyes."
Castiel let him touch as he liked, leaning into his hand a little.  "Have I?" 
He asked, knowing all this was only because Dean was inebriated.
"Mhmm," he nodded, pressing even closer, their legs tangling together.  "I
think about them.  Like all the time.  Even before I liked you I thought about
them."
"So I've been told."  Cas said, a little absent as he laid an arm over his
side, a careful hand coming up to inspect the bruises on his face, gingerly
running over his split lip.  "What happened?"
"My dad hit me."  He admitted softly, unashamed in his state.
Any affection in his gaze vanished, gripping a hand into the sheets as his
earlier suspicions were confirmed.  "Why do you stay?"
"Sam needs me," he breathed, meeting his gaze sadly.  "If I leave or report
him, they'll take him away from me."
A frown marred his face, unable to think of a better solution to Dean's
problem.  "You'll be old enough to move out soon, right?"  He asked, running a
hand carefully over his jaw.
Humming, he pressed into the touch, eyes fluttering shut.  "Yes.  But I'll take
Sam with me."
"Where will you go?"  He asked, letting himself move closer as Dean closed his
eyes though he knew he shouldn't have.
"I don't know," Dean replied, voice airy as his gaze met Castiel's again,
leaning just a touch closer to brush at his nose. 
His heart rate sped up as their noses brushed, breath hitching ever so
slightly.  "You could take me with you."
"I would.  Don't wanna be anywhere without you, Cas.  Wanna stop doing this
stupid trial period.  I just want you."
Smiling, Cas let their foreheads rest together, eyes shutting again.  Dean’s
hand curled into the collar of his shirt, keeping him close, as if afraid he
would try and pull away while they were laying there together.  It wasn't long
before his breath was evening out, sleep creeping up on him.  Castiel was going
to say something, but he saw how Dean went lax against the mattress, knowing
sleep wasn't far, not wanting to disturb him.
"Good night Dean."  He said quietly, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
===============================================================================
 
It was dark when Dean awoke, dehydrated but sadly sober.  He was curled up in a
bed that wasn't his, a leather jacket draped over his shoulders, and an arm
around his waist.  At some point, he had buried ever closer to Castiel, face
pressed against his neck with Cas' chin resting on his head.  Both of his hands
were between them, clutching at cotton, one palm pressed over the assuring
thud-thud of Castiel's heart beating.  Breath shallow, he blinked slowly,
trying to push past the fatigue that had settled in his bones as he shifted
against him. 
"Cas?"  He croaked, tentative, unsure if he was disturbing him or not.
The shift of legs next to his, and the no longer even rush of breath against
his neck woke Castiel, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes.  It took him a
moment to remember why there was somebody next to him, pulling back enough to
give Dean a sleepy smile.
"G'morning."  He mumbled.
"Morning," he replied a little dazedly, voice soft as if he were worried that
if he spoke too loud he'd wake up from a dream.  "What time is it?"
"Five."  He said, raising his head to peer at the clock on his bedside table. 
The hand at Dean's hip idly moved over his side, tracking over the ladder of
his ribs.
"Jesus," he breathed, only to have it catch in his throat as fingers slid up
over him, shirt rising slightly.  Dean tried to move, but winced when his head,
his face, his foot, his everything gave a resounding throb.  "Shit."
Cas' brow furrowed when Dean winced, but it quickly dissolved when he put two
and two together and came to the right conclusion.  "I told you you'd have a
hangover.”
"Not if I'd just kept drinking," he snarked, giving him a half-hearted glare. 
"You can't crash if you don't come down."
"Don't complain, it wouldn't have helped you."  Cas said, taking hold of the
hand settled over his chest.
Letting out an amused breath, conceding silently as he released the death hold
he'd had on his shirt, Dean pulled back enough to meet his gaze in the dimly
lit room.  "I'm in your bed."
"Yes, you are."  He replied, squeezing his hand softly.
Dean replied with a weak smile.  "This isn't how I pictured finding my way into
your bed the first time.  I'm sorry I got drunk and blubbered all over you.''
"Then how did you picture waking up here?"  He asked, nudging softly at his
nose.  "I don't mind, you needed someone."
Blushing, Dean let the question slide by the wayside, not wanting to get into
how he'd pictured things with Castiel-- more than once or twice now-- while he
was still tangled up with him.  "Well, thanks.  I didn't-- I, um, there were
some things said that I--"  Cutting himself off, he felt his stomach churn.  He
thought maybe it was just nervousness, but when he gagged slightly, his eyes
widened in panic.  "Bathroom.  Where's your bathroom?"
Cas was out of bed near instantly, not wanting projectile vomit anywhere in his
vicinity.  "Across the lounge room, second door."
Dean didn't say thank you, he was too busy pushing from the bed and making his
way to the bathroom as quickly as he could.  He didn't even bother flicking on
the lights, just concaved over and emptied his stomach into the toilet bowl,
sinking to his knees as he heaved.  There wasn't much to expel, but his body
kept flinching-- back arching, stomach clenching-- as he gagged up nothing but
bile.  Hesitantly, Cas stood at the bathroom door, nose crinkling at the
smell.  He turned on the light only to regret the decision considering the
nasty view.
When he was finally done, Dean panted, resting his forehead against the cool
porcelain of the seat, shuddering pitifully.  Fumbling, he groped blindly for
the lever, and flushed what had to be an entire bottle of whiskey down the
toilet.  He let out a groan, hapless and helpless, sitting like a puppet who'd
had its string cut in the middle of Castiel's bathroom. 
"That sucked."
"Did you expect it to be fun?"  Cas deadpanned, rubbing gingerly over his back.
"You're fuckin' hilarious, you know that?"  He said with a huff, no venom in
his tone, just ragged and wrecked and tired.  He liked the assuring hand at his
back.
Cas didn't move his hand, even if the smell was a off putting.  "Yes, I've been
told."  Cas said, rummaging through the bathroom cupboard and shoving a bottle
of mouthwash at him.  "Drink."
Staring blearily at him for a moment, he took it and twisted the cap off,
taking a mouthful and swishing it around, even gargling for a moment, before he
was spitting it up into the toilet.  Wiping his mouth with the back of his
hand, he hissed as he pressed too hard against his still freshly split lip.
"Shit that burns like a bitch," he muttered, tonguing at the wound carefully.
Ensuring the last of the vomit was well and truly gone, Castiel knelt down next
to him, turning Dean's face with a gentle prompting.  Inspecting his lips
carefully, his brow furrowed.  "Would you like me to help?"
"Uh..."  He breathed, feeling the fingers on his chin with an acute kind of
awareness.  "Yeah.  Sure."
"I should have done this sooner.  I don't even want to think about the bacteria
in there now."  He muttered, standing Dean up as he rattled around through the
cupboards, pulling out a tiny black jar, unlabeled, and reeking of spice.
Dean's brows drew up in bemused surprise, and he hobbled on his bad foot for a
moment before leaning against the countertop, biting back a smile that
disappeared the second he opened up the jar.  "What the hell is that?"
"Magic."  Cas chuckled, scooping out a smear of ocher yellow gel that looked
just as pungent as it smelled.  "Disinfectant, it's a home remedy.  Honey,
tumeric, a little vitamin E oil."  He replied, carefully dabbing some of it
onto Dean's lip.
Hissing, he flinched away slightly, glaring at the strange goo for a moment
before he let Castiel continue.  "You have a lot of these home remedies?"
"A few."  Castiel replied, "Be thankful I'm not using cayenne pepper on you. 
Stops bleeding."  He added, careful not to press too hard at his lip.  
Considering for a moment, he stared at Castiel as he worked, gaze softening
with affection and gratitude.  "Wanna put some on my foot when we're done?"
"Already crossed my mind.  What did you do to it?"  He said, "And no kissing or
chewy foods until that heals.”
"Broken glass.  I stepped on a piece when my dad-- uh.  Yesterday."  He
muttered.
Unconsciously, Castiel's grip tightened on the sink, replacing the jar
carefully.  "Sit up for me."  He said, voice a little tense at the cause of all
of this.
Shifting, Dean pulled himself up onto the counter, swinging his injured foot up
into his lap and peeling his shoe off.  Wincing at the sight of a bloodied
sock, he gave a soft sigh, and slowly started working it off; he did his best
to be careful as the material tugged at the wound that was just a little too
deep and a little too wide for safety.  Inspecting the wound carefully, Castiel
made a displeased huffing sound, prodding at it as gingerly as he could.
"This should have stitches."  He said, looking up at him.  "And I think you
missed a fragment."
"I can't go to the hospital, Cas."  He told him, voice soft, and his toes
wiggled.  "Do you have a pair of tweezers?  I can get it out if you're too
squeamish."
"I can do it.  I've seen worse."  He replied, moving to fetch a roll of
bandages, a pair of tweezers and a dish, handing the latter to Dean.  "Fill
that for me.  Warm water."  He said, voice taking on a certain commanding tone.
"Sir, yes, sir."  He muttered, smiling lopsidedly as he twisted and turned on
the warm tap.  Fingers under the stream, he waited until it heated up, and then
filled the little dish. 
Taking the dish from him with a soft "thank you,” Castiel set it beside him,
tearing off a small section of bandage and soaking it so he could clean away
the blood around his foot.  Slowly, he wiped the stains away, carefully
prodding at the cut until he saw the shine of glass embedded in his skin,
picking it out with no warning whatsoever.
"Jesus fucking christ--!"  Dean flinched, glaring over at Castiel and the shard
of glass he'd pulled out, hand rushing to grip at the wrist of the one Cas was
holding his ankle with.  "What the actual fuck?"
"I had to get it out."  Cas told him, confused as to why he was angry.  "Would
you prefer it left in there.  Infections are quite painful."  He added,
dropping the glass into the used bandage.
"Yeah, okay, I know.  A warning, Cas.  Give a guy a warning."  Dean told him,
pain ricocheting up his nerve endings.  "Ow."
"Sorry."  He muttered, fishing out a bottle of disinfectant and pouring some
into the remaining water.  "Fair warning."  He said pointedly, dabbing at the
cut with disinfectant, grip tightening to avoid Dean pulling away.
"Son of a bitch," he buried his face in one of his hands, shuddering as the
chemical burned at the gash.  "Oh, my god. You suck so bad right now."
"No, but maybe later."
Going beat red even in his aggravated state, Dean glared at him through his
fingers, letting his hand drop as he finished wrapping his foot up.  "Promises,
promises."
"Careful on that for a few days."  He said, standing up as he collected the
bandage and bloodied glass, disposing of them neatly in the bin next to the
toilet.
"You keep bossing me around," Dean replied, letting his foot drop down out of
his lap, hands bracing on the edge of the counter as he sat there, watching
Castiel move.  "You're kind of a dominant prick sometimes, you know that?"
Cas gave a shrug, finding it difficult to react otherwise to a fact he already
knew.  "Why do you think I don't have friends?"
"You've got me," he said, brow furrowing, kicking gently at his thigh.  "And
Charlie.  You two have seemed pretty chummy recently."
"You're slowly leaving friend territory, Dean."  He said, pausing a moment as
he thought about Charlie.  It was true, they had gotten closer, even if half
her pop culture references went over his head.  "And Charlie.  Yes, she
counts."
"Yeah," he breathed, glancing down, coy.  "About-- About last night...  I said
some things, last night, that I uh..."
A hopeful look lit up Castiel's face, shuffling his feet as Dean spoke.  He was
tired of trialing this.  He wanted to be able to kiss him when he wanted, and
hold him, and sneak into his room late at night simply because he could.
"I mean, I meantthem, but--" he took a deep breath, fingers tightening at the
edge.  "Cas, I'm... I'm scared and I... I don't-- I don't know if I can."
"Of course you can.  Youhave been."  Cas said, "There's nothing to be afraid
of."
Looking up at him, Dean gave him a sad little smile.  "There's you...  The
things I've told you, the way we've let each other in...  We could ruin each
other, Cas."
"We could.  But we won't."  He said, nudging at his hand tentatively.
The touch had him moving, hand reaching out and gripping his shirt, tugging
Castiel closer.  Head falling forward, he pressed his forehead against his
chest, eyes shutting as turmoil rolled through him.  "So much faith."
"One of us has to."  Cas murmured, rubbing over the back of his neck slowly,
trying to comfort him.
The was a heavy pause, and Dean let out a soft sigh.  "I should go.  Sam's
probably at Bobby's, and I need to make sure he's okay.  Get him home and then
get him to school."
He let Dean go, pulling back reluctantly, the hope he had fading fast.  "Tell
him I said hello."  He said feebly as Dean tugged on his shoe.
"I will," he replied, sliding off of the countertop, wincing as his foot flared
and he limped past him, shivering as he brushed by.  Pausing in the doorway, he
glanced over at him.  "Thank you, Cas."
Castiel nodded once in recognition, following him out.  "Bye, Dean."  He said
quietly, watching as he left.
Dean winced.  He had never hated being said goodbye to so much in his life.
===============================================================================
 
Castiel’s day had gone by slowly.  Agonizingly slow.  He’d been in a slump for
most of it-- spent it hiding in his room, flipping through books of plays that
he’d already read a millions times.  When finally got too stir-crazy, he’d
ended up moving around his room for the rest of the day, scrubbing his hands
through his hair, unable to sit still.  
It had taken hours of indecision and frustrated pacing until Cas finally left
to go find Dean again, the day gone, and night settling in.  Gabriel was right;
all this beating around the bush was just hurting the both of them, and there
was no denying the chemistry.  When he finally got off his ass and turned to
leave, his brother shouted a less than inspiring.
"Go get 'em, Cassie!"
The trip to Dean's house was as uneventful as they usually were, slipping over
the fence and cracking open Dean's window.  As he climbed into the dark room,
Cas' brow furrowed.  Where was he?
He panicked for a moment, recalling the stories from only a day ago about
Dean's father, afraid something might have happened.  Taking a moment to
compose himself, Castiel shook his head to clear it, ducking out of the window,
and into his back yard, deciding to check there before he had to use the front
entrance.
"Y'know," Dean's voice had him stalling, and Dean pinned him with a dry stare
from his perch, bundled up on the trampoline.  "Breaking and entering is still
a crime."
"Only if you choose to press charges."  Cas said a little meekly, walking over
to him, halting just in front of the trampoline.
"Point taken," he grinned wanly, expression warm.  "What are you doing here?"
Cas gave a stiff shrug.  "Wanted to see you."  He mumbled, far lamer than he
intended.
"Are you just gonna stand there all day?"  He asked, brow ticking up
expectantly.
A smile lit up Castiel's face, climbing onto the trampoline with him. "No." He
said cheekily.
"Good to know," he laughed softly, a bare foot snaking out from under the
blankets to nudge at Castiel's leg.  "I'm sorry for walking out like that this
morning."
"You needed to take care of Sam."  He replied, a booted foot tapping gently
back at Dean's.
"True.  But it was rude.  Especially considering everything you did for me." 
Dean's nose wrinkled faintly.  "No shoes on the trampoline."
Kicking off his boots, Cas laid back next to him, stretching out to get
comfortable.  "You needed to go.  I won't blame you for that."
Flopping down unceremoniously, Dean bounced slightly as springs wailed their
protest, laying on his side and staring at him with what seemed to be acute
fascination.  "I keep running from you.  Why do you keep chasing after me?"
Cas remained on his back, staring at the sky as though it would help him figure
out an appropriate answer.  He let out a slow sigh, turning his head to look
over at him.  "I can't let you run too far.  You'll never come back."
"You...  really want this, don't you?"  He asked, searching his gaze.  "Want
me."
He held Dean's gaze for a moment, nodding slowly.
Dean knew it was a stupid question, knew he shouldn't even bother, but he
couldn't help but ask.  "Why?"
The question struck him for a moment, trying to think of a cohesive answer.  "I
wasn't aware I needed a reason for wanting you.  I just do."
Scooting a little closer, Dean's eyes flicked down to his mouth a back up, a
barely there movement but noticeable.  "I really wanna kiss you right now, but
I have it under doctor's orders that I'm not supposed to until my lip heals."
A smile lit up his face, moving closer until he could feel the heat of Dean's
body.  "Give it a few more days, and then you can kiss me to your heart’s
content."
Offering up an end of the patchwork blanket he was huddled under for Cas to
slip beneath, he returned the smile.  "What if I don't want to wait?"
Sliding in next to him, Cas moved until he was nearly pressed up against him,
heart rate rising.  "Then you're very impatient."
"I am," he admitted softly, just waiting.  "But I also think I've made you wait
long enough."
Humming in agreement, Castiel leaned in, lips brushing just by the corner of
his mouth.  "I can wait longer."
"I don't want to wait longer," he whispered, turning his head so that their
noses brushed, hands reaching out to catch with his-- the only barrier between
them aside from their clothes.  "I don't want to wait anymore, Cas."
It took him a moment to connect the dots, to realize what Dean was saying to
him, blinking in shock for a second.  "You don't want to."  He repeated,
suddenly feeling very stupid.  Surging forward, Cas pressed their lips
together, forgetting about the split in Dean's entirely.
Despite the flare of pain that came, mouth still tender, Dean let out a soft
sound against his lips and kissed in return.  Untangling one of his hands, Dean
cupped Castiel's jaw and tilted his head, to better slant his lips under
Castiel's.  Huffing out a soft breath, Castiel clutched at Dean's shirt,
pulling him in and keeping him there as they kissed.  Dean broke it just long
enough to suck in a sharp breath before he was kissing him again, fingers
tangling in Cas' hair, and legs threading through his until they were all
caught up in one another.  Letting out a soft keen, Dean parted his lips
invitingly, wanting more.  Wanting everything.
It wasn't as clinical as Cas was used to, there was no ulterior motive.  He was
just kissing Dean because he wanted to.  Because for the first time, he could. 
Curling an arm around his neck, Castiel let his tongue flick over the seam of
his lips.
Their tongues met, all of their pent up attraction finally having a proper
outlet, as they kissed one another.  Dean hooked his ankle on one of Castiel's,
pressed even closer, grappling one another to stay connected, together, to make
sure the other didn't run away.  There was a faint moan, and neither knew who
made it, but they both swallowed it down like starved men.  Cas felt slightly
dizzy by the time he pulled back, panting softly in order to catch his breath. 
His eyes opened slowly, meeting vivid green easily, a certain affection shared
between them.
"So," Dean finally breathed, fingers shifting slightly in his hair.
Humming softly, Castiel nudged at his nose, clinging to his shirt for dear
life.  "Does this make you my boyfriend?"
"Well, I never was one for labels," he bantered softly, giving a playful
shrug.  "But if that's what you're planning on calling me, sure."
"Neither am I."  He admitted, curling an arm around his waist, comfortably
pressed against him.
"Does that mean you're my boyfriend?"  Dean asked, teasing but half-serious.
Castiel paused for a moment, considering it.  A smile curled his lips as he
nodded, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.  It seemed nearly surreal, after
waiting what felt like an age for this to happen.  "If this is a dream, please
don't wake me."
"I won't as long as you return the favor."
Cas all but beamed at him, burrowing into his neck and latching onto him.
Chuckling, Dean carded his fingers through his hair, hiding his smile in his
hair.  "Sorry for making you wait."
The reply Cas gave was muffled to the point of inaudibility, limbs looping
around him, keeping him in place.
"Cas," he chided, laughter staining his voice.  "C'mon, I'm not going anywhere,
you monkey."
From within the warmth of Dean's neck, a muffled "no" could be heard, nuzzling
his neck softly, enjoying the warmth they shared as a cool wind blew across
them.
Curling up into him, he grinned broadly and lopsidedly, not wanting to be let
go anymore than Cas wanted to let him go.  "I didn't know it was this bad."  He
teased.
Lifting his head, Castiel pressed an affectionate kiss to his cheek.  "I'm just
making up for the weeks you had me waiting."
Nudging at his cheek, he kissed his lips, chaste and almost teasing.  "I can
always make you wait longer if you'd like."
Castiel nearly pouted at the idea, squeezing at his shoulder a little harder,
as though Dean would leave.  "Please don't do that."
"Cas," he breathed, awed by the desperate hand on him, by the fact that someone
could want him so much.  "I was joking."
"I knew that," Cas mumbled, looking up at him, a little sheepish as he loosened
his grip.  He swallowed thickly, shifting against Dean, soaking up the heat
they shared.
"So we're a thing now," he said, smiling crookedly at the way Castiel loosened
his grip, only to scoot ever closer.  He liked being all tangled with him,
caught up in one another.  He let his fingers trail down the back of his neck. 
"Boyfriends."
Cas let his eyes flutter shut as fingers trailed his neck, enjoying the
intimacy they shared after years of shutting people out.  "We're a thing now." 
He agreed, voice uncharacteristically soft as he let Dean handle him.
Dean's expression softened, almost vulnerable, as he gazed at him.  Fingers
brushed over his features, simultaneously admiring and disbelieving. Cas gave a
soft hum, letting any pretense he still wore drop, gripping loosely at Dean's
shoulder, making no protest whatsoever as to how he moved.
"You're beautiful," he said, soft, almost to himself as fingers trailed down
his cheek.
Cas opened one eye to look at him, nearly disbelieving for a moment.  "You're
biased."
"Oh?"  Dean chortled.  "I am, am I?"
"Hm.  You're terribly biased."  He said, a small smile on his face, the kind
that softened an otherwise stoic face.  "You'll tell me anything."
"And why would I do that?"  Dean asked, curious despite himself.
Cas tilted his head in mild confusion, as though it was a stupid question. 
"It's what you do, isn't it?  You tell people what they want to hear, and
they'll be nice to you."
"Uh-- No.  No, Cas."  He shook his head, cupping his jaw.  "I don't care if
you're nice to me, Castiel.  You're beautiful.  I don't care if you want to
hear it or not, it's how I feel.  I'm not going to lie to you."
The explanation only confused him further, brow furrowing further, because
people always wanted something, and they'd do anything to get it.  "But there's
nothing in it for you.  I don't...  Why would you say that, you gain nothing."
"To say it," he replied in a breath, thumb brushing his cheek.  "Because it's
true."
It went against everything he'd seen, everything he'd been taught about people,
but for some reason, Castiel found himself in complete belief in what Dean was
saying. Maybe he did mean it, and maybe people didn't lie through their teeth
all the time. Maybe some of the few compliments he'd received over time were
true. A soft smile replaced his confusion, leaning into the hand at his cheek.
"Because you want to."
"Because I want to," he echoed back, smiling as Castiel understood what he was
saying.
Resting himself securely back against Dean's neck, he gave a soft hum, nuzzling
him slowly.
"Is there going to be a lot of this then?"  He asked, holding back another
laugh.  Jesus, Cas was like an attention starved cat.  "Not that I'm
complaining."
"I don't get to be close to people often, so yes, there will be."  He mumbled,
voice muffled against Dean neck.
"You can be close to me all you like," Dean replied, snuggling up more securely
to him, pulling the blanket tighter around them.  "I don't mind a bit."
Giving a soft hum of approval, Castiel stilled against him, soaking in the
warmth they shared. It took him a moment to relax, half expecting Dean to pull
away again, slowly, he let out a long breath, snuggled against his side, in
complete trust of him.
Staring up at the fading light in the sky, Dean tangled their fingers together,
enjoying the presence of Castiel there next to him.  “So did you skip school
today too?”
"Yeah.  Was only a few classes."  He mumbled, "I had better things to do."
"Bobby called me in sick for both days yesterday,"  Dean said, fingers
tightening briefly.  "Apparently, he figured I would need the recuperating
time."
Squeezing at his hand softly, grateful for the connection, Castiel nodded his
understanding.  "He's a smart man."
"Bobby?  Yeah.  But don't let him hear you say it."  Dean informed him, nudging
into his side.
"Why not?"  He asked, curious despite himself.
"He's the roughest son of a bitch I've ever met.  Soft heart and sharp mind,
but the second you point it out, it's like you kicked his puppy."
Cas let out a snort of a laugh, a wicked looking smile on his face.  "I'll
remember that."
"Good to hear.  I'd rather like for my boyfriend to get along with my family." 
He commented mildly, liking the way it tasted on his tongue.  "Sam already
likes you.  Now we just have to worry about the rest of them."
"At least you don't have to try as hard with mine."  Cas said, mostly joking
despite the topic.
"Especially not with Gabriel."  He added slyly, recalling a possessive hand on
his shoulder the day previous-- though, at the time, he'd been too obliviously
drunk to read into it.
Cas gave a faint huff of discontent, "No, he seems to like you just fine."
"Oh?"  His brows shot up, and he had to force himself to stop from smiling.  "I
hadn't noticed."
He clung to Dean a little tighter, clutching at his shoulder again.  "I have."
"And?"  Dean shifted back away from him, just enough to meet his gaze.  "How
does that make you feel?"
Cas hesitated for a moment, pondering his own emotional climate.  "Mildly
jealous."  He replied after a moment, a faint furrow between his brows.
"Really?"  Dean perked at that, something in him preening with the knowledge
that Castiel got jealous of others because of him.
"I think that's the word, yes."  He replied, not quite sure if the angry flare
he felt every time Gabriel's misfortunate flirting was mentioned was jealousy,
or just brotherly competition...  Was there even a difference?
Dean made a small sound, grinning to himself.  "Awesome."
"How so?"
"It just means you like me a lot," he provided.  "Which is awesome."
It took him a minute to process, but eventually, Cas found himself nodding in
agreement, tucking his face back into Dean's neck.
"Jesus, Cas."  He laughed, though there was a warm flush beginning to burn on
his cheeks.  "You just gonna hide there all night?"
A muffled "Yes," could be heard from the warmth of Dean's neck, nestled close
to him. "S'cold." He lied.
"Gonna do anything else?"  Dean shivered, repressing a ticklish squirm.  "Or
should I just get comfortable as is?"
Castiel raised his head, eyes narrowing as he felt Dean shiver, nudged at his
neck with a curious nose. He ignored Dean's question in favour of watching for
his reaction.
Twitching, Dean bit back a laugh, shifting slightly away as nerves sparked. 
A near wicked grin parted his lips, prodding at his neck with gentle finger. 
"What have we here?"
Jerking away from the finger, he made a face, eyes narrowing.  "Nothing."
The grin on his face softened to something far more amused, prodding
experimentally at Dean's sides.  "I wouldn't call this nothing."
His body reacted before he could stop it, contracting away from Cas' seeking
fingers, the blanket that had been wrapped around them falling to pool at their
hips as he slapped at Castiel's hands.  "It's nothing."  He insisted, having to
swallow down another laugh.
Cas let out a chuckle as Dean tried to squirm away, long fingers skating over
warm skin, enjoying the way he laughed.
A giggle bubbled up past Dean's lips, and he tried to push his hands away as
his shirt rode up.  But, as always when someone was being tickled, his energy
was drawn away to the contracting muscles that tried to jerk away from
Castiel's hands.  "Cas!"
Before long, Castiel was laughing along with him, prodding and tickling at his
sides, grinning as he battered at his hands. There was something adorable about
the way Dean laughed, and he'd never get tired of it.  Dean bucked, straining,
trying to get away from the hands that were doing cruel things to his body. 
Head tossed back, he laughed helplessly until there were tears in his eyes,
squirming and wriggling, trying to twist away. 
Slowly, Castiel relented, finding himself perched on Dean's lap, flushing a
brilliant red as he realized the rather compromising position they ended up
in.  Chuckles dying down, Dean stared up at him, chest rising and falling
unevenly, eyes bright with mirth.  Dean was disheveled; his hair was mussed,
his skin warm and pink, a smile permanently painted on his lips, and his shirt
askew.  His hands were settled over Castiel's forearms, gripping loosely, and
he found himself beneath him with a lap full of local rebellion.
"All blush and no bite," he muttered, breathy and adoring, tinged with
bemusement.
Cas squirmed a little at the mild jibe, returning his smile a little sheepishly
as he tried to will away the flush on his cheeks.  "Shut up."  He grumbled,
resting his hands at Dean's shoulders.
"Why?  It's true."  Dean quipped, hands slipping down to loop loosely around
his wrists.  "Unless, of course, you're planning on proving otherwise."
Castiel gave a soft shrug, their usual banter suddenly feeling awkward.  It
wasn't just teasing anymore, or playful little jibes that never amounted to
anything except a few colourful mental images.  There was so much potential for
their teasing to become so much more.  Swallowing thickly, he shifted again,
suddenly nervous.  "If you'd like me to."
"If-- If you'd like to," Dean stammered, feeling the weight settle between them
palpable and thick.  There was a large difference between the lighthearted
quips from before, and the limitless opportunity they had to actually follow
through with it now.
Painfully aware of the tension settled between them, Dean leant up, lingering
close for a moment, as though checking that this was okay.  Hands shaking
slightly, Dean kissed him, slow and tentative, settling a hand at his cheek to
keep it from quaking too much.  Inhaling sharply, Cas tilted his head to
properly slot their mouths together, eyes fluttering shut.  Dean’s free hand
came up to clutch at his shirt, humming against his lips.  Dean liked this. 
Being able to kiss like this.  Being able to have Castiel kiss him like this.
The hand at Castiel’s cheek twitched faintly, nerves easing a he grew more and
more familiar with the way he moved, how he tasted.  A soft whine escaped Cas,
enjoying the way their lips met.  Pressing more firmly, Dean nipped at
Castiel's lower lip, the sound Castiel let out only spurring him on as he
tangled his fingers back into his hair.  Dean arched up slightly, gasping
between kisses, mouths working together in a slow heat.  Eventually, Cas had to
pull back, panting for a moment, staring down at him with a soft smile on his
face, taking Dean's face in his hands.
Dean smiled in return, eyes alight with something like fondness.  "What?"
Cas didn't answer, much preferring the press of their lips, an underlying heat
that wasn't present before lingering between them.  Humming, Dean beamed
against his lips, tugging him closer by the shirt.  Castiel went easily,
following the tug at his shirt, moving to better accommodate the body
underneath him.  Tentatively, he let his hands move from Dean's jaw, sliding
down his neck and over the ridge of his collarbones.
Dean was aware of every single touch, of the hands traveling down his skin
until the met the open collar of his shirt, and it coaxed a whimper from him-
- almost needy as his lips parted under Castiel's.  Long fingers fanned out,
still shaking slightly as they moved over Dean's body, learning the structure
of his muscles, and the steady beat of his heart.
"We should--" Dean managed between one kiss and another.  "We should stop." 
His breath caught as fingers brushed over the skin of his stomach, and his face
went red as heat flooded through him, coiling threateningly.  "I, uh, there's-
- this is-- before I--"
Castiel pulled back with no complaint, though the second he stopped, he missed
the feeling of lips on his.  He didn't move his hands,  skirting over the bared
skin of his stomach, "Before we do something stupid."
"Yeah," he breathed, nodding, staring at him for a long moment; Dean was
pulling him back in for another kiss before he could stop himself.  "Something
stupid."
"If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine."  Cas said, nearly
inaudible, a flush burning his cheeks at his own cheesiness.  It was one thing
to sprout Shakespeare, but it was another entirely for it to be so terribly
sappy.
Breath catching, a smile twitched briefly on Dean's lips, nudging at Cas'
nose.  "Finish it."
Part of him was dearly hoping Dean wouldn't recognize the passage, would just
call him weird and forget it.  But there was something terribly satisfying
about being asked to recite what he'd learnt for someone.  "My lips, two
blushing pilgrims, ready stand. To smooth that rough touch with a tender
kiss."  He said softly, voice quite, as though afraid to be heard.
Nudging at Cas' nose, Dean felt warmth blossom in his chest, and he nervously
cleared his throat-- not skilled in recitation, but knowing the words.  "Good
pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in
this, for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch," he caught one of
Castiel's hands in his, finger lined up with finger.  "And palm to palm is holy
palmers' kiss."
All the air went out of him, nearly stammering as Dean caught his hand.  A
goofy looking smile lit up his face, nudging gently at his nose in return. 
"Have not saints lips, and holy palmer too?"
"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer."  He threaded their fingers
together, eyes alight.
"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest
faith turn to despair."  He returned, squeezing his hand gently, lips brushing
softly.
"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."
"Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.  Thus from my lips, by yours,
my sin is purged."  He returned, surprised that Dean knew this much.
Leaning up, Dean kissed him, slow and sure, lingering for a long moment, lips
still touching as he spoke, voice soft and barely there.  "Then have my lips
the sin that they have took."
"Sin from thy lips?  O trespass sweetly urged!"  He smiled, letting the hand
still at his stomach move over warm flesh.  "Give me my sin again."  He
finished, closing the gap between them and kissing him slowly.
Moaning, faint but definitely there, Dean canted his head to deepen the kiss,
arching into Cas' touch with a shiver as his fingers tightened in Castiel's
hand and hair.  The very faint sound Dean gave only served to spur him on
despite the very subtle warning bells flaring in the back of his mind.  Head
spinning, Cas smoothed a curious hand over his stomach, feeling the contours of
his body.  Another sound escaped Dean as he rolled into the touch, muscles
flexing and stretching as he shifted beneath him, addicted to the taste of his
mouth and the hand on his skin.  Shivering, he pressed closer, arched, like an
offering, flicking his tongue out over the roof of Castiel's mouth.
Castiel disentangled their hands, pulling at whatever skin was in reach, over
his collarbone, and down the neckline of his shirt, nearly complaining about
the restriction.  Curling his hands into the soft material of his shirt to keep
from roaming too far and doing something stupid.  Finally breaking their kiss,
Dean panted against his lips, eyes shut tight as they lay there.  His heart was
pounding so hard, so fast, that was certain Castiel could hear every beat.  He
kept Cas close, one hand sunk deep in his hair as the other clutched at a
shoulder, not wanting to let him go.  Wanting more, but fearful of the desire,
of pushing too quickly, of being out of his depth.
A satisfied smile curled over his lips as he looked down at Dean, pressing a
hand over his chest, feeling the steady beating of his heart.  Nudging
carefully at his nose, Castiel settled more comfortably over him, breath
evening out.
Letting his eyes flutter open, Dean kissed him chastely, "So does that make you
my Romeo?"
"I hope not."  He mumbled, flushing faintly at the mention.  "I'd rather it if
we didn't end up dead in a crypt."
"That'd be a good thing to avoid," Dean laughed faintly, stroking through his
hair.  "Though, I wouldn't mind being your Juliet."
"You look more like a Tybalt, or a Macbeth."  Cas smiled, tilting his head back
against the hand in his hair.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"  Dean grinned, roguish and charming in a
boyish sort of way.
Castiel regarded him for a moment, nudging gently at his nose.  "I think its a
good thing.  But Juliet's nice too."
Snorting, he rolled his eyes playfully, though in the fading light it was
harder to see.  "Thanks.  Glad to know I'm nice no matter what, Prince
Charming."
Cas gave him a flat look, rolling off him to land in a heap next to Dean,
pulling the patchwork blanket around them both.  "Don't expect me to climb your
hair or anything, Princess."  He teased.
"Not long enough for that," he replied mildly, settling in and hesitating only
a moment before he pressed close-- one leg hitched over Castiel's, an arm
slipping around his waist, a hand tangling with his, and his face nudging
against his jaw-- eyes shutting as he got more comfortable under the blanket. 
"But I wouldn't object to being kissed awake."
"But you might object to being out into a hundred year sleep."  Castiel said
evenly, squeezing the hand in his softly.
"Definitely,"  he hummed.  "I don't need that much beauty sleep."
"You don't need any."  Castiel mumbled, so quiet Dean wouldn't have heard if he
wasn't so close.
Blushing a pretty color, but hid it under Castiel's chin.  "You callin' me
beautiful, Cas?"
"Maybe," he replied, a shy smile on his face.
"You really think so?"
Looking at him, Cas nodded, ignoring his flush at the admission. His own
embarrassment could wait.
Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, Dean swallowed thickly, face warm. 
"Thank you."
Castiel offered a warm smile in response, brushing his thumb over Dean's lower
lip to pull it carefully from between his teeth.  "You're welcome."
Leaning into his touch, breath catching slightly, his eyes shut slowly. 
"You're gonna spoil the hell out of me, aren't you?"
The hand at his chin moved to rest comfortably against Dean's cheek, thumb
stroking gently.  "Probably."  Cas admitted, squeezing at his hand softly.
"Can't say I'll mind," he muttered, pressing into his hand blindly, wincing
faintly as his bruise flared in agitation.
He pulled his hand away upon noticing Dean's wince, relocating it to settle
over his chest.  "Of course you wouldn't."
Humming, he inhaled deeply, pressing closer.  He hesitated for only a moment,
voice soft and barely audible when he spoke.  "Stay?"
Castiel hadn't intended on staying the night, but nothing he intended ever
seemed to happen anymore. "I'll stay."
"Thank you," he breathed, curling into him, feeling fatigue set in-- from the
abuse of yesterday and the stress that he'd been under for months about
everything-- finding a safe haven in his hold.  "And you can break in anytime
you like, you know.  If you'd like."
"I'll remember that."  Cas said, keeping quiet to avoid rousing him, feeling
his breathing deepen as Dean grew tired.  He kept him secure, held tight as
they shared each others warmth. 
***** I'll Wait a Lifetime to Give In to You *****
Chapter Notes
     WARNING: Mentions of child abuse
It was early morning by the time Castiel woke, drawn from a peaceful sleep by a
leg twitching against his.  Blinking slowly, he yawned, laying back against the
trampoline as the last remnants of sleep left him, a lazy smile on his face as
he watched Dean's sleeping face, lax, and frankly adorable despite the little
pool of drool he'd left on Cas' shirt.
The change in the rise and fall pattern Dean’s pillow had taken on during the
night was what woke him, but he refused to open his eyes even as he stirred
slightly.  The hand that was resting on Castiel's chest shifted, sliding
further around him until he was hugging him close and keeping him tight, as if
worried that he'd leave now that he was awake.  One of those half-awake fears
that he was certain to be embarrassed by once he finally achieve full
consciousness. 
Castiel let Dean cling, letting a hand drift over the back of his neck slowly,
watching him wake up.  Shifting slightly, Castiel traced out the hairline at
the back of his neck, far too comfortable in the warmth to move.
Shivering, Dean nosed into the cotton of his shirt, inhaling the scent of him. 
"What're y'doing?"
"Enjoying the morning."  Cas replied, voice rough from lack of use.
Groaning softly, he nuzzled ever closer, unwilling to move much from the
position he was in, and he laughed deliriously in his morning bliss.  "You have
sex-voice."
"Thank you, for that charming observation."  Cas deadpanned, trying to keep a
straight face as Dean laughed.
"Nah," he grinned, finally managing to force himself to open up his eyes,
resting his chin on his chest as he stared at him.  "Charming is your
territory, remember?"
Castiel rolled his eyes, prodding playfully at his neck.  "Only when it needs
to be."
Flinching away, he gave him a warning look, not in the mood to be tickled so
early.  "What happened to kissing me awake?"
Raising his hand in a defensive gesture, Castiel offered him a smile.  "I
wanted to let you sleep."
"Softie," he muttered affectionately, fingers curling into the cotton of his
shirt.
"Me?  Never."  Cas muttered, squeezing the hand still in his.
"Liar."
Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, Castiel gave him a pointed look.  "Yes,
sometimes.  But you're the only one that knows it."
"Good," he hummed, kissing him again.  "I like being the one who knows things
about you that no one else does."
A small smile curved Cas’ lips, going lax against their makeshift bed, a
contented look on his face.
"Did you sleep okay?"  Dean asked curiously, enjoying the languid way they were
still lounging together.
Cas hummed his agreement, idly tracing over his shoulder.  "Comfortably, yes. 
You?"
"Yeah," he smiled, shivering at the gentle touches.  "Yeah, it was good."
"You drool, by the way."  Cas informed, blunt as ever.
"And I am completely unapologetic about it," he quipped, far too used to the
way Castiel spoke.
He gave a soft huff, squeezing his shoulder gently.  "And they call me cold."
Frowning as fingers stopped tracing idle patterns against his bicep, he plucked
at his shirt, thumb brushing over the small stain he'd left in the night. 
"Pretty warm if you ask me."
"Only when I want to be."  He countered, noticing his frown and resuming the
soft trace against his arm.
"Ah," he grinned, letting his own fingers trail up the side of Castiel's neck. 
"And you want to be warm with me."
Humming softly, his eyes fell shut, a familiar contented sensation rushing
through him, happy as he lay there.  "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
The look on his face and the sound he made left Dean feeling tingly and warm. 
Cas was happy.  Cas was happy and with him.  Dean might even go so far as to
say Cas was happy becauseof him. 
Leaning down, he kissed the spot he touched, tentative as he followed after the
brush of his fingers-- gentle, lingering presses of his lips against Castiel's
skin.  A low, rumbling hum left Castiel, tilting his head back ever so
slightly, content to give Dean free reign.  A sleepy looking smile turned Cas'
mouth as lips pressed along his neck, shivering at the gesture.  Pausing once
he reached his jaw, Dean pulled back, eyes alight and curious but worried maybe
he shouldn't have done that.  Cas opened his eyes to peer at him, nudging
encouragingly at his arm.
Smiling briefly, he leaned back in, lips brushing up along his neck.  He could
feel Castiel’s pulse.  Feel the way his throat worked when he swallowed.  Feel
the heat of his skin.  It was addicting as all hell.  Hesitantly, he nipped at
the spot below his ear.  Cas’ eyes slid shut again, groaning very faintly,
tensing faintly with the sharp sting only to relax as he felt warm breath ghost
soothingly against his neck.
"How far are we taking this?" 
The question brought him out of the pleasured little bubble he'd put himself
into, shutting everything save for Dean out.  Letting a hand drift to the back
of his head, Cas gave a small grunt, enjoying this far too much for it to stop
now, though he knew that maybe they should.  Swallowing thickly, he opened his
eyes, looking down at him as best he could from this angle.  "Until we deem it
uncomfortable.  I'd still be happy if we never went any further than this."
Dean met his gaze, pulling back to look down at Cas from where he was
practically perched on top of him.  Cupping the side of his face, he shivered
as Castiel's fingers twisted in the short hair at the base of his skull, and
brushed his own thumb over the line of Cas' cheekbone.
"I've uh... I've never really been interested in doing those kinds of things
with other people.  I mean, I've been interested, but not enough to actually do
them."  He watched as Castiel's expression fell slightly, and he leaned down to
kiss it away.  "So this is about as much experience as I have-- aside from
getting gropey in the backseat of my Impala one or two times.  But I--"  Dean
cleared his throat, settling more firmly against him, soaking up the heat he
had to offer.  "I do want those things.  And I'm pretty sure I want them with
you."
"Then we'll have to slow things down a little."  Cas said, any previous
disappointment replaced with simple acceptance, though he made a mental
reminder to put his libido on the backburner.
“A little,” he admitted, clearing his throat, feeling both awkward and
apologetic-- like he'd lead Cas into thinking he was a sure thing, and he was
letting him down now that the older boy knew he wasn't.  “Not too much.  I
mean, we can do things.  Like this.  More than this, if you'd want.  And if
things get a little too heated for me, I'll say so.  Is that-- How do you feel
about that?”
"You don't have to compromise for me."  Cas said softly, "If something makes
you uncomfortable, tell me and we can stop."
"I'm not uncomfortable now," he bantered, trying to lighten the seriousness of
it, leaning down and pressing a fleeting kiss to his lips, lingering in his
space.  "Or now."
Cas smiled at him, tracking idle patterns over his arm again.  "Neither am I."
"Good," he hummed, far too pleased.  "Then you won't mind if I take another--"
"Dean!"  Sam's voice cut into their moment, and Dean dropped his forehead
against Castiel's chest as he pulled away from his lips.  "What's for
breakfast?"
The hand curled into the back of Dean's head dropped in mild disappointment,
huffing as he recognised their interruption.  "Get your own."  He grumbled
back, hardly loud enough for Sam to hear.
Dean's chuckle was hidden against the soft material of Castiel's t-shirt and he
peered up at him mirthfully.  "You want anything in particular, Cas?"
"I'd like to stay here."  Cas mumbled, face dropping into Dean's hair.
"You can stay as long as you like," Dean replied warmly.  "What would you like
to eat?"
Lifting his head again, Cas gave a shrug, shifting underneath him, leaning back
in to press a warm kiss to his forehead.  "I'd be happy with a cup of coffee."
"I can do that," he breath, eyes fluttering shut briefly.  "I can definitely
do--"
"Dean!"
"Oh, myfuckinggod--"  Dean pulled away from Castiel's hold regretfully, turning
to pin his little brother with a glare.  "What?"
"Stop making out with your boyfriend, already.  I'm starving."  Sam whined.
"Children in Africa are starving, Sam, you're just annoying."  He griped,
blankets pooled around his waist.  "Go inside and watch the news or something,
I'll be there in a minute."
Rolling his eyes, Sam turned and walked away, huffing and slamming the sliding
glass door with as much force as a thirteen year old could muster.  Dean let
out a soft sound, amused but irritated, and he looked over his shoulder at
Castiel with an apologetic smile. 
"We were in the middle of something, weren't we?"
"Yeah, kinda."  Cas mumbled, kissing him fleetingly as he slipped from under
him, sitting up with a slow roll of his shoulders, arching his spine, stiff
from so long in one place.
The kiss was far too short, and his boyfriend-- really, that's never going to
get old-- was far too tempting.  Scooching closer, Dean turned Cas to face him,
and he pressed a long, lingering kiss to his lips.  "We should definitely
finish it then."
He hummed softly, curling a tentative arm around Dean's waist, returning his
kiss easily.  "Your brother’s gonna get pissy."  Cas mumbled, half-hearted as
he kissed him again, slow and measured, savouring the feeling of his lips.
"My brother is always pissy," Dean muttered, returning another kiss, hand
coming up to cup Castiel's jaw as lips slanted over his.
Pulling him in closer, uncaring about the mild morning breath they both had,
Cas clutched at the soft cotton covering his hip, not quite brave enough to
move it out of the way.  Dean let out a small sound at the back of his throat,
hand slipping back into Castiel's hair, shuddering at the potential of the hand
on him-- he could feel the warmth through the material.  The sound Dean gave,
the brush of fingers through his hair broke whatever restraint Cas had
reserved, pushing his shirt out of the way, letting his hands drift up Dean's
back.
Breath catching, Dean arched into him, muscle bunching and flexing beneath the
hands that ran up over him, spine curving as he pressed a faint moan to his
lips.  His fingers curled reflexively, nails scratching over Castiel’s scalp as
he was pulled ever closer, and he was incredibly tempted to just crawl into his
lap.  Mostly smooth skin met Cas’ hands, warm and soft as curious fingers
inspected all that was within reach, tracing out his vertebrae, the flex of his
muscles.  It was as though he'd let his body take over, pulling Dean in,
possessive, and needy like he hadn't been with anyone before.
Straddling his thighs, Dean settled above him, licking his way into Castiel's
mouth as he was manhandled close.  Tugging gently at dark hair, Dean flicked
his tongue over the roof of his mouth, and their kiss grew more and more
heated.  It made something twist in him, something aching and hot, and Dean had
to swallow down another sound, feeling like he was being far too noisy as it
was.  Pulling back, Cas panted softly, dragging his lips down the line of
Dean's jaw, pulling him in as he settled over his thighs, having to force
himself not to grind up against him.
Dean's breath came to him uneven and bated, sharp intakes as their chests
pressed together, as Castiel's mouth moved over his skin.  Cursing softly, one
of his hands cupped the back of Cas' head, fingers still tangled deep in his
hair, and the other hand dropped to clutch at the material at his back, tugging
it up ever so slightly-- as if wanting to pull it off of him to get at the skin
beneath.  Shaking slightly, Dean gave a subtle roll of his hips, knowing they
should stop, should ease off, but wanting more than anything.
The faint warning flashing in the back of his mind was abruptly made clear as
Dean pulled at his shirt.  It couldn't go this far.  Not quite yet.  Panting
against his neck, Castiel pulled back, reluctant as he looked up at him,
arching his spine to take Dean's hands away.  "Are we really doing this now?"
Yes, he wanted to say.  Wanted to lean back in and kiss him until they were
both dizzy with it, wanted to peel Castiel's shirt up and over his head to get
at the flesh beneath it, wanted to rock against him over and over until they
were both coming in their jeans.
Swallowing thickly, he shook his head, fingers carding gently through Castiel's
hair as Dean shifted back-- still in his lap, just at a safer distance-
- pressing into the hands that were still up his shirt as his pulse pounded. 
"No.  No, we shouldn't.  We're uh... It's too fast, right?  We should probably
slow down?"
Stroking idly down the length of Dean's spine, Castiel nodded hesitantly,
wanting nothing more than to forget the warning and keep going.  "We don't have
to."  He mumbled, against his better judgement.
"I don't want to," Dean admitted, back arching at the gentle touches; his eyes
strayed back down to Castiel's mouth, and he shivered.  "But we probably
should."
"We probably should." Cas agreed, slipping his hands from up Dean's shirt,
nudging softly at his nose, letting out a shaky breath to calm himself.
Biting back the whine that wanted to bubble up as hands slid away from his
skin, he slipped out of his lap, bare feet landing in half-dead grass.  Resting
his hands on Castiel's knees, he tugged gently at his jeans.  "Come on.  Let's
go in."
Suddenly very cold without Dean, Cas rolled his shoulders, sliding off the
trampoline to follow him, leaning in close for a moment to whisper to him.  "We
can finish later."
Dean's breath caught, pupils blowing wide as he flushed a deep color.  "That's
a definite possibility.”
Chuckling softly, Castiel made his way, barefoot, into Dean's house, rubbing a
hand through his hair in pointless effort to make it sit flat.
Watching him walk away, Dean followed, feeling desire still coiled in him.  It
wasn't fair how much he wanted to reach out and touch him.  Letting out a soft
sigh, he shut the sliding glass door and moved over to the fridge.  If he
focused on making breakfast, he wouldn’t focus on how good it had felt to be
pressed up against him, groping and kissing.  Scrubbing a hand over his face,
he bent down to look in, spotting eggs and milk and wondering if he had any
potatoes and tortillas for breakfast burritos.
Leaning lazily against the kitchen counter, Cas watched Dean work, taking a
less than secretive peak at his ass when he bent to look into the fridge,
humming his approval.
Pulling out all of the ingredients he needed, he glanced over at Castiel and
offered up a smile.  "Hey.  Reach into the cabinet above your head and grab the
two large pans for me?”
Nodding once, Castiel did as asked, hunting through the cupboard and pulling
out the necessary pans, shirt lifting as he reached, setting them on the table.
"Thanks," Dean let his eyes stray to the skin he wanted nothing more than to
lick, and Dean quickly busied himself with pulling out a cutting board and a
bag of potatoes.  "Do you wanna crack the eggs for me?  Or cut these?"
"You'll turn me into a domestic."  Cas chuckled, picking up a knife with
practiced dexterity not borne of cooking, taking a potato.  "What do you need
done?"
"Dice them."  He replied, grabbing a bowl and cracking the eggs open on the
lip.  "Not too big, not too little."
Castiel set to work, taking a moment to adapt his knife work to fit kitchen
service rather than lock picking.  "Y'know this is probably the closest to
cooking I've ever been."
"Yeah?"  Dean glanced his way and then made a faint tsking sound as he moved
over close, hand coming to rest over Castiel's as he changed the motion-
- rocking it back and forth over the board in an almost swaying motion-- and
the other rested at his hip as he peered over his shoulder.  "Don't hack. 
Chop."
Looking over at him, mildly confused by his advice, Castiel altered his
technique to fit Dean's instructions.  "I've always found hacking to be much
more efficient."
"Not if you want a clean cut," he replied, giving him a look, but it quickly
faded into a smile.  "I kinda like domestic you."
Cas shrugged, nudging at his hip playfully.  "I think I prefer take away."
"Not for long.  You'll fall in love with my cooking, yet."  Dean hummed,
stealing a piece of raw potato and popping it into his mouth as he moved
away, trusting Castiel to finish the job on his own.  "Make them a little
smaller, and we're golden."
"Aren't potatoes poisonous raw?"  Cas said, chopping potatoes with all the
finesse of a kindergartener.  Cooking, he decided was not like picking locks.
"Fuck no.  I've been eating raw potato all my life, and I've never once gotten
sick."  Dean huffed out a laugh, moving the pans onto the stove with a
clatter.  Turning it on, he grabbed the bowl and poured the eggs out into the
non-stick pan. 
Humming softly, Castiel scrapped the knife clean as he finished chopping.  "I
heard they were.  Apparently not."
"Brings those over here for me?"  He waved him over, grabbing a spatula as he
shifted the eggs around. 
Carrying the chopping board over, he set it as Dean asked, watching him cook
with an oddly fond expression.  Grabbing the cutting board, Dean slid the
potatoes into the open pan, reaching over to grab the spices he needed.  Easy
movements, practiced and familiar, guided him as he added salt and pepper and
chili powder to both skillets.  Turning the eggs on low, he sifted the potatoes
around, wanting them to brown before the eggs cooked all the way.  Glancing
Castiel's way, his brow quirked up, and he smiled curiously.
"What?"
He made no attempt to hide his expression, watching the way Dean worked, like
it was the kind of thing he could watch for the rest of his life, every
morning.  He gave a slight shrug, leaning against the bench.  "Just watching."
"Well," he grinned to himself, gaze dropping back to the food in front of him. 
"If you get tired of watching, you can always grab me the shredded cheese from
the fridge-- and then set the table for us."
Suddenly feeling a little stupid for just standing around, Cas shuffled off to
do as he was asked, surprisingly obedient despite his general nature.  It took
him little time to locate the cheese, most fridges being organised in a similar
fashion, riffling through his drawers with the practiced ease of someone
familiar with silverware, setting three places on Dean's kitchen table.
"Will you watch these for me for a second?"  Dean called over to him,
scrambling the eggs to near perfection.
Cas nodded a little warily, coming back over to him, and watching over the eggs
as he'd been asked.  "I warn you.  Last time I tried to cook, I blew up the
microwave."
"I have faith in you," he teased, but his expression was soft as he moved over
to the pantry.  Digging around, he pulled out a packet of tortillas and
wandered back over to the stove where Castiel stood.  Leaning over his
shoulder, he hesitantly rested his chin there, shoulder nudging at the middle
of his back.  "You can stir them around, you know."
The chin at his shoulder broke him out of his intense staring match with a pan
full of eggs.  "I'd better leave that to you."  He said, gingerly prodding at
the spoon, as though it would bite.
Laughing, he pressing his mouth against his shoulder, hiding his smile. 
Nudging him gently out of the way, he plucked up the spatula and shuffled the
eggs around, tossing the tortillas on the countertop next to the stove. 
Opening up the bag of shredded cheese, he sprinkled it onto the eggs, folding
them over. 
"Go back to the first cabinet for me and grab the large, flat pan.  Bring it
over here and put it on the back burner, start heating up the tortillas."  He
said, a command and not a question.
"I love it when you get all demanding."  Cas deadpanned, sarcasm dripping from
his words as he moved to do as asked, retrieving the pan and smacking it down
onto the burner, peering at the tortillas for a moment, before starting to heat
them through.  This would be the first and last time he cooked.
"Don't be a baby," he huffed, rolling his eyes.  "You boss me around all the
time."
"Older, wiser, smarter."  Cas drawled, nudging at his hip again.
"No," Dean scoffed, but there was a smile on his face.  "You just like telling
me what to do-- control freak.  You know, I bet you're just like this in bed. 
You've really gotta loosen up a bit."
Castiel raised an eyebrow at him, leaning in until he was almost uncomfortably
close.  "And how do you propose to 'loosen me up'?”  He asked, voice low as he
let his fingertips drag over Dean's hip.
Swallowing past his nervousness, he met his gaze, their noses almost brushing
as he leaned into the touch.  "Oh, I'm sure I could think of a few ways."
"Tell me."  Cas said, no question in his tone, tilting his head to let his lips
brush over Dean's ever so slightly.
"I've always been better at show rather than tell.  The things I would do to
you," he replied, hovering for a moment before he pulled away, turning the
stove off and grabbing the pan of eggs off the burner, moving over to the table
to place it on the hot pads that were always out on top of it.  "Don't burn the
tortillas, Cas."
His mouth went dry, swallowing audibly as Dean spoke, far too tempted to let
breakfast fall by the wayside.  Stammering out a string of nonsense, Cas
plucked a nearly burnt tortilla out of the pan with nimble fingers.
"You okay over here?"  Dean asked slyly, moving close in order to check on the
potatoes.
The noise Cas let out was almost bird like, soft and half strangled as he got
himself under control.  Clearing his throat, he nodded, going back to heating
the tortillas.
"You sure?"  He asked, pressing into his side, stirring the potatoes around.
"Ye--"  He cleared his throat, "Yeah.  Fine."  He said, shifting a little as
Dean pressed into him, far too distracted by a simple touch. 
Laughing softly, smugly, he patted his ass playfully and gave him a peck on the
cheek as he moved to take the pan of potatoes over to the table too.  "Well,
lemme know if that status changes."
Cas jumped, turning a half hearted glare in his direction.  "I'll do that."  He
muttered, plucking another tortilla out of the pan, fast enough to avoid
burning himself.
"Good," Dean hummed, grinning to himself, and he set the pan on the table. 
"Hey, Sammy!  Time for breakfast.  Get your scrawny ass in here!"
Stacking the tortillas on a plate, Cas ruffled a hand through his hair, yawning
softly as he carried the plate to the table.  Briefly, he made a mental note to
be on best behaviour; it wouldn't do to mentally scar Sam this early in the
morning.
"Finally," Sam groused, hair sticking on end as he came into the kitchen. 
Rolling his eyes, Dean gestured for him to sit.  "Shut up and stuff your face
already."
As Castiel sat down, Dean placed a familiar hand on his shoulder, thumb
brushing over his collarbone.  He hummed, giving an affectionate squeeze, and
muttered a soft order for him to go ahead and eat as he moved away to start a
fresh pot of coffee.  He met Dean's gaze for a moment, returning his smile as
he set to serving himself up some breakfast.  Sam dug into the food laid out
before him, making a burrito and taking a large bite before he turned his
attention to Castiel.
"You stay the night again?"
Taking a bite, Cas raised his eyebrows in mild appreciation, hacking into the
remainder of the burrito with no finesse whatsoever.  Swallowing a large
mouthful, nodded, "Inadvertently, yeah."
Sam peered at him curiously, canting his head as his brows drew together,
almost suspicious in its nature.  "You gonna stay over more often?"
Castiel hesitated, casting a quick glance at Dean before he nodded.  "Yes. 
Probably."
Dean smiled to himself from where he was watching the coffee drip into the old
pot.  He liked the idea of Castiel coming around more, of him staying over
more.
"And what is your intention with my brother?"  Sam asked, and Dean balked,
turning to give him a look that was crossed between shocked, embarrassed, and
outraged.
"Sam!"
Castiel nearly choked on his breakfast, spluttering for a moment, neither
outraged nor embarrassed, just plain surprised.  "I don't think you want the
gory details."  He replied, a cheeky looking smile on his face.
Sam stopped eating, pinning Castiel with a surprisingly dark look, far too
intimidating for a kid his age.  "What is your intention?"
"Sam," Dean cut in, laughing awkwardly.  "We really-- there's no-- stop.”
Castiel’s smile dropped, keeping level gaze with Sam, not at all afraid of
him.  "That depends.  I don't intend on a lot of things happening, but they do
anyway."  He said, leaning forward, his expression sobered.  "I don't intend
any harm towards your brother, if that's what worries you."
Pursing his lips, Sam looked at him, searching for something and seeming to
find it when he smiled at him.  "Good.  Because if you do?  I will hurt you."
Dean buried his face in a hand, hiding his humiliation.
Castiel peered at him for a moment, trying to decide if he was serious or not. 
"Will you?"  He said, thinly veiled threat in his tone.
Sam leaned in, nodding, unshaken.  "Yes.  I will."
"Okayyy," Dean cut in, coming over with two cups of coffee, placing himself in
the seat between them.  "How's breakfast?"
Cas snapped his attentions back to Dean, grabbing the offered coffee from him. 
"It's good."  He said, a faint smile on his lips, forgetting all about his
little confrontation.
"Good," he replied with a hum, beginning to dig into his own, more lukewarm,
breakfast.  "I'm glad you like it."
Sam sighed, giving his older brother an endearingly fond look.  "So you're
dating now, right?  You're not, like, friends with benefits or something?"
Dean choked, turning a glared on his brother, coughing as he sputtered.
"You're not paying him back for tutoring you with sex, are you?"  Sam bristled,
glancing between them, eyes widening.  "Because I've read about that--"
"Sam--"  Dean croaked helplessly.
"That's prostitution-- Dean, is Castiel forcing you to--"
"Sam."
The coffee Cas was idly sipping at was abruptly and inelegantly expelled
through his nose, spluttering at the accusation.  After taking a moment to
recover, cleaning himself up with a napkin, he pinned Sam with a furious look.
"I understand that you're concerned for your brother, but don't you ever accuse
me of forcing somebody to sleep with me."  He warned.
Sam gave Castiel a wary look, not saying anything, just looking to his brother
expectantly.
Clearing his throat, Dean offered up an assuring smile.  "He's not forcing me
into anything, Sammy.  I promise."
"That doesn't mean you're dating--"
"We are," Dean cut him off, glancing Cas' way surreptitiously.  "We're, uh...
yeah, we're dating.  It's not Facebook official or anything, but--"
"But you want to do things with him."  Sam finished, appearing slightly
relieved but still cautious.
"Yes-- Sam," Dean narrowed his eyes at him.  "What exactly do you think we're
doing?"
Castiel knew this would happen, eventually, someone would assume his intentions
were negative.  Though he was hoping Sam would think better of him.  "I don't
know how that's any of his business."  He said defensively.
"He's my brother and I want to make sure he's safe and happy.  That's how it's
my business."  Sam insisted, giving Castiel a prim look.  "Don't get me wrong-
- you're great and I really like you, but I can't be too careful.  He's my only
brother, Cas."
Dean's expression softened as Sam talked to Castiel from across the table, and
he had to suppress a smile at the protective side that was rearing its head.
"I won't hurt him."  He said, nodding in understanding, voice quiet and nearly
vulnerable.  "I promise you."
Sam nodded in wary acceptance, taking a bite of his burrito and chewing slowly
as he thought of what next to say.  "Okay.  Then you guys can date.  Just...
don't make out or whatever in front of me.  I don't wanna see that."
"Thanks," Dean said derisively, nudging Sam under the table.  "Glad I've got
your approval."
"Welcome," Sam chirped, gripping his burrito and pushing away from the table. 
"Gonna go get ready-- I'm going to the movies with Jess; her mom is picking me
up in, like, twenty minutes."
Watching as he scrambled off, Dean huffed out an amused breath, shaking his
head.  "Thanks for telling me!"  After a moment of silence, he finally turned
back to Castiel, blushing faintly.  "Sorry about that."
Castiel's brow furrowed as Sam left, utterly confused as it what just
happened.  "I wasn't aware I was asking for permission...  I would have been
more polite."  He said, turning back to Dean.
"You weren't," Dean supplied, blushing more.  "He was just being... facetious. 
Or whatever.  You don't need permission from anyone to be my boyfriend, Cas."
"I didn't think I did."  He said, shaking his head as though to clear it, idly
sipping at his coffee.
"Do you-- I mean, that didn't scare you off did it?"  He joked, unwilling to
meet his gaze, feeling familiar fear creeping up in him.
"He's a twelve year old boy.  I've seen mold scarier than him."  Cas said
bluntly. 
Dean laughed, glancing up at him coyly.  "Yeah, no, I know.  Just...  I wanted
to make sure.  And, you know, if you wanted an out, there it is."
"I'm not looking for a way out."  Cas said, offering a fond smile.
"I'm glad," he replied, let his foot slip over and rest against his.  "I don't
want you to."
Nudging softly at his foot, Castiel smiled at him from the rim of his coffee
mug.
"So," he cleared his throat, smiling in return as he picked idly at his
breakfast.  "We've got the whole weekend-- what are we gonna do?"
"I could think of a few things."  Cas said, gentle tease in his voice.
"Could you?"  Dean asked, tilting his head, lips twitching up in bemusement as
he nudged at his foot, toes slipping up his ankle.  "What might those things
be?"
Offering an almost coy smile, Cas got up, carrying his plate to the kitchen
sink, dropping a kiss on his forehead as he went.  "That depends on you."
"How so?"  Dean asked curiously, taking the time to appreciate his form, eyes
drifting down over his back, to his ass, and down to his calves before
traveling back up.
Castiel knew when he was being looked at, feeling eyes on him before he
registered who's they were.  "It all depends on what you're comfortable with."
"What are you comfortable with?"
Turning back to him, a small smile quirked his lips, moving to rest behind him,
resting a hand over his shoulder.  "Would it be corny if i said you?"
"Corny?  No.  Cheesy?  Yeah."  Dean chuckled, looking up at him, grinning. 
"But that's okay."
Squeezing his shoulder gently, he met Dean's grin equally.  "I suppose you'll
have to get used to that."
"I suppose I will," he smiled, shivering slightly.
Unable to help himself, Cas craned his neck, leaning down to kiss him, only
needing to give a gentle nudge at Dean's jaw as encouragement.  Relaxing almost
instantly, Dean all but melted into the kiss, lips pressing more firmly to
Castiel's as he reached up to tangled his fingers loosely in his hair.  The
angle was awkward and Cas' neck ached, but the tangle of fingers in his hair
was well worth it, the contented rush that managed to derail his line of
thought every time they kissed.  Pulling back just enough to look at him, Cas
offered a soft smile, relaxed enough in his presence to let any guard he had
left drop.
Letting out a soft sound of protest as Castiel broke their kiss, Dean twisted
more fully in his seat and kissed him again, lingering and savoring the feeling
of lips on lips.  Humming his content, he curved his other hand behind Cas'
neck, fingers pressing along as their mouths slanted so perfectly together.  He
gave a tentative swipe with his tongue when a disgruntled cry made him jerk
back.
"Come on,I left you alone for, like, five seconds!"  Sam groused from the
doorway, hand over his eyes, nose wrinkled in something akin to disgust-- most
likely from finding his brother making out in the kitchen.  "I eat in here,
guys!"
The interruption pasted a discontented look on Cas' face, not moving the hand
settled at Dean's shoulder despite Sam's complaints.  "So do I, what's your
point?"  He grumbled, nudging softly at Dean's jaw to get his attention,
wanting to kiss him again.
"My point," Sam said, voice vaguely shrill, and Dean found himself being
distracted by Castiel's persistence, their noses brushing as his breath
caught.  "Is that it's gross to come in a find my brother making out with
anyone-- Are you guys even listening?"
Somewhere in the back of Castiel’s mind, it pinged that this was insensitive,
but at this point, he couldn't bring himself to care, far too absorbed with the
teasing little brushes of their lips.
There was another disgruntled groan, and Sam threw up his arms in frustration. 
"Whatever.  I'm leaving.  I'll be back later.  Yes, Dean, I have my phone. 
I'll make sure to check in."
"Thanks, Sam.  Love you.  Be safe."  Dean muttered absently, eyes caught with
Castiel's, pulse pounding nervously as a flush spread over his face.  "Try and
kiss her this time."
"I hate you,"  Sam called, no venom to his words as he walked off, and Dean
tilted his head just slightly as he heard the front door swing shut.
The door clicked, and Cas placed a nip on his bottom lip, threading a hand into
the short hair at the nape of Dean's neck.  "Thought he'd never leave."
The sound the escaped Dean was more or less a whine, lips parting slightly,
heart stammering somewhere in his chest as a weight settled and twisted in his
stomach.  Cas let out a soft chuckle, the little noise Dean made was nothing
short of endearing.  Tilting his head slightly, Cas sealed their lips together,
no heat behind it, simple affection.  Melting into it, Dean’s eyes fluttered
shut, and he pulled him closer reflexively.  His hands didn't quite shake like
they did before, slowly growing comfortable. The hand at Dean’s shoulder moved
to grip at the edge of the table, keeping him up as his knees went lax.
"God," Dean breathed between kisses, shifting to face him even better, hand
cupping his jaw and gripping at his shirt.  "It's not fair.  You're not fair."
"What?  Don't you like it?"  Cas teased, smiling down at him warmly.
"Too much," he conceded, nodding, staring up at him in earnest. 
"Not just me then."  He said, nudging at Dean's nose playfully.
Laughing faintly, he pulled back just enough to give him room to push to his
feet, standing up as Castiel straightened to meet him.  "Definitely not just
you."
Draping his arms over Dean's shoulders, he hummed softly, lingering in close,
just out of reach.
Hands landing hesitantly at his hips, Dean smiled, feeling that familiar
nervousness buzz beneath his skin.  "How's being incredibly lazy sound?"
A grin lit up his face, pressing a quick kiss to Dean's lips.  "Now you're
speaking my language."
"Hit the couch?  Veg out all day with crap reruns of Criminal Mindsand SVU?" 
He asked, slowly shuffling forward, leading Castiel backwards towards the
doorway.  He went willingly, letting Dean lead him to the lounge room, nodding
his agreement, even if he'd prefer to count the detail of freckles on Dean's
cheeks.  "Awesome," Dean grinned, pressing him back onto the loveseat and
following soon after-- Cas was cornered back against the armrest and Dean was
leaning into his side, legs tucking beneath himself as he regretfully untangled
from him in order to grab the remote.  He turned the TV on distractedly, eyes
not leaving Castiel, and he had to resist the urge to lean in a kiss him again.
Shifting to get himself comfortable, Castiel held him close, resting against
him in complete content to just stay there all day, hardly even noticing the
television.  Leaning in, Dean kissed him, long and lingering.   Gentle brushes
of their lips, presses of their mouths.  He wound his arm around Cas' waist,
tugging him closer, letting out a content sigh against his skin.
Television forgotten, Cas pressed a hand to his cheek, humming softly as they
kissed, slow and easy.  By the time they'd pulled back, he had a goofy looking
smile painted on his face, genuinely happy as he burrowed closer.
===============================================================================
Cas spent the remainder of his weekend wrapped up in Dean's presence, warm and
content, a growing flirtatious banter between them leading to more than one
heated make out session.  He could still feel the tingle of lips against his if
he thought hard enough about it.  By the time Castiel had actually gotten home,
mouth shaped bruise proudly sucked into his neck, Gabriel cheered, proclaiming
his little brother’s victory so loudly that their upstairs neighbour had
stomped on their floor to quiet the rowdy Novaks. 
Sunday night had been sleepless, waiting for the hours to tick by so he could
go see Dean again.  School had been no better, only blockades of class time
that kept him from his goal.  It was nearly lunch before he could find Dean,
ducking through the crowd as he approached him.  He found Dean digging around
his locker-- putting things in, neat as can be, and taking things out for the
classes he had after the lunch period was over. 
Dean only spotted Castiel after he'd shut the metal door, startling only
slightly at the sight of him.  "Cas, hey."
Castiel beamed at him, coming to stop just short of touching him, unsure if
such public gestures would be okay.  "Hello, Dean."
Dean noted the way he stopped just shy of him, and he felt his stomach drop in
disappointment.  "Ready for lunch?"
When Dean made no attempt to close the short distance between them, Cas let the
hand he had nearly touching his drop.  Perhaps it would just take a little
time.  "Yeah.  Sure." 
"Awesome," he smiled, jerking his head in gesture for Cas to follow him as he
turned away, leading down the hall.  "How's your day?"
"Lonely."  Cas replied without thinking about it, regretting his honestly the
second he'd spoken.
Faltering, Dean glanced his way, brows drawn together in concern.  "Lonely?"
Swallowing thickly, Castiel nodded.  "Yeah."  He mumbled.
"I'm sorry," he replied quietly, nudging into Castiel's side.
He shook his head, letting the very tips of his fingers brush at Dean's arm. 
"It's not your fault."
Swallowing thickly, Dean gave in to the urge to touch him, taking his hand and
squeezing it gently before he let it go again-- before Cas could pull away
first.  Pushing through the double doors, he held one open for Castiel to
follow through, and waved over at Charlie from across the lunchroom.  She
perked up, waving back far too enthusiastically, and it made Dean crack an
amused smile.  Castiel rolled his shoulders to keep from feeling too
disappointed, distracting himself as he waved a little at Charlie.  He shuffled
a little further away, knowing Dean would want some space, that he wasn't the
public type.
"Hey, you two."  Charlie chirped as they took their seats across from her. 
"How was the long weekend?"
"Yeah," Meg lifted a sly, knowing brow, staring over at Dean with an open-
mouthed smirk.  "How was it?"
Castiel schooled his features as much as he could, tense shouldered as he
strived to ignore the deflating disappointment that threatened to pop the warm
bubble his weekend had put him in.  Sitting rigidly, he gave a curt nod of his
head in greeting.
"Nothing special."  Cas said, tone steely, not enjoying having to lie about
this.  Not when he wanted to shout it to the world.
Dean glanced his way, the dismissal of what they'd done-- of what they'd become
to one another-- stinging.  It made his gut clench uncomfortably, his heart
lurching in his chest as something tightened in his throat.  Something a lot
like hurt.  Coughing into his hand, he busied himself with pulling out his
lunch, inching away from Castiel subtly.
"Yeah, nothing special."  He muttered in agreement, hating the way the words
tasted on his tongue.
Charlie gave him a curious look, tilting her head.  "Seriously?"
"I baked a pie," Dean shrugged.  "On Sunday."
"Ah, yes."  Meg smirked, but there was something tense in her expression as she
glanced between him and Cas, like she could see what they weren't saying and
was irritated about it.  "The annual ceremony of bemoaning your losses by
baking through it.  What kind was it this year, Dean-o?"
Despite the tension that had settled between them, Castiel leveled a glare at
Meg, seeing only a slur against Dean.
Dean shot her a dry stare, knowing she didn't mean any real harm, that she was
just poking fun and trying to offer him comfort the only way she knew how; he
pointed a plastic fork her way.  "If you must know, pumpkin.  The apples aren't
in season, yet, and I'm practicing for Thanksgiving."
"Speaking of which," Meg brushed off Cas' glare with a grin, leaning forward,
an arm draped around Charlie's shoulders.  "Should I make plans to escape from
under daddy's drunken wing to come over?  Or should I brace myself for the
beating?"
"Meg," Dean gave her an earnest look, and spotted the way her smile wobbled. 
"Of course you can come over.  It's tradition.  Besides, I need someone to keep
Sam's grubby hands out of the rice pudding and cookies."
"I'd come, but I'm gonna be busy with the fam."  Charlie chimed in, leaning
into Meg's side.  "Did Garth go to last year's?"
"No, but Ash did."  Dean supplied.
Meg rolled her eyes.  "Please, don't invite him again."
"I can't make any promises."
It went on like that for a while, food being eaten and banter being exchanged. 
Castiel fell silent, suddenly feeling very alien in the conversation.  His
family didn't do close celebration.  There were elaborate parties that he
always hated, and occasionally, all of them would sit in uncomfortable
conversation for an hour under the pretense of  family dinner.  They had always
been tense charades that ultimately just had the lot of them growing further
and further apart.  Thanksgiving wasn’t an exception to the rule. 
Feeling like he had nothing to add Cas debated leaving, though frankly, he had
nowhere else to go.
"What about you, Cas?"  Charlie asked him curiously.
"I don't celebrate Thanksgiving."  He said flatly, "It's not like I can just go
back home for the week."
Dean looked over at him, blinking his shock away, and offering a tentative
smile.  "You and Gabriel can come over to mine for the Holiday.  I always have
too many leftovers."
Cas looked over at him, swallowing thickly.  "You sure that's a good idea?"
"Yeah," he smiled, giving a tentative nudge at Cas' knee, hoping that under the
table stuff would be okay.  "Of course.  I'd be happy to have you guys."
The touch nearly made Cas forget to keep things covert, having to stop himself
from reaching out and taking the hand set on the table top.  "Thank you."
All but beaming over at him, he nudged again, turning back to his food as
Charlie gave him a small smirk.  Swallowing down a bite of his sandwich, his
brow quirked up.  "How was your weekend?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Meg chuckled, giving Dean a sultry look that he
blinked boredly at in reply.  "Which, by the way, the invitation still stands,
hot stuff."
Dean nearly choked on his own drink.  "We are not-- No."
"What invitation?"  Charlie glanced over to her girlfriend accusingly as Dean's
face turned a lovely shade of red.
Castiel narrowed his eyes at Meg, jealousy flaring with the look she gave him. 
Charlie managed to steal the question right out of his mouth, "We're not what?"
"We weren't serious."  Dean stressed, giving Meg a dirty glare.  "Idefinitely
wasn't."
"I was," she hummed, and Dean jumped as a foot dragged up the inside of his
leg.  "Charlie trusts you."
"Oh," the red head's eyes widened comically, and she bashfully tucked a lock of
hair behind her ear.  "That."
"And you're not half bad to look at naked."  Meg continued, brows lifting
suggestively.
Laughing, half-hysteric, Dean shook his head, nearly yelping as Meg's foot only
slid higher.  "I- I uh-- No.  We were joking, and you both were drunk.  Bad
drunk decisions are just that: bad."
Realisation hit, and Castiel flat out glowered at her, bordering on life-
threatening.  He did notshare his things with anyone, regardless of trust
levels.  "I hope for your sake you aren't implying what I think you're
implying."
"Why?"  Meg shot back, head tilting, eyes flashing, teasingly dangerous. 
"Don't like the idea of a couple of girls pawing at your friend?  You should be
happy for him, Clarence.  Unless, of course, you two are more than just
friends?"
Cas went silent for a moment, inadvertently landing himself in quite the
predicament.  If he said yes, Meg would stop, but he knew Dean would disapprove
if he did.
Dean felt something in him drop, and he glanced over at Castiel, hating the way
his own hopes rose.  Hating the way he was all but praying for Castiel to say
yes.  That they were dating.  That they were together.  That they had spent the
weekend making out and touching and being with one another, and that Meg should
get her questing foot out of his lap.
 "None of your business."  Cas grumbled, hating himself for it.
Looking away, Dean took a deep breath, staring down at his lunch with his
appetite gone.  "No, of course not."  He said dully, but he knocked Meg's foot
away, and she let it drop with a small frown.
"Right," Meg shrugged, but there was a concerned glimmer in her eyes that Dean
recognized and ignored.  "Then you can just swing by Friday night-- it's pizza
night anyways, and Garth will be heading out of town early for the Holiday."
"Sure," Dean laughed hollowly, rolling his eyes.  There was a pressure building
up in his chest, stifling and reminiscent of the feeling he used to get when he
was younger.  When he was prone to panic-attacks.  When he couldn’t breathe no
matter how much he tried.  When his heart started pounding so fast he thought
it might break his ribs.  He needed to go, needed to get away.  "I'll be
there.  Hey, I uh... I gotta book.  Just remembered I need to finish something
for one of my classes."
The girls seemed confused, but said nothing but their goodbyes as he gathered
up his things.  Castiel snapped a look to Dean as he stood, hearing the a
strain in his voice.  Something in him dropped, shoulders hanging loose as
disappointment welled up in him.  He jerked as Meg kicked his shin, giving him
a pointed stare, eyes flickering to Dean’s retreating form.  Cursing softly,
Castiel stood, moving to go after him, unsure what had happened to trigger such
a rapid departure.
"Dean, wait."
Dean didn't wait.  He didn't stop.  Not until he was out of the lunch room and
into the more or less deserted halls.  He slowed, pinching the bridge of his
nose as he braced himself for the inevitable.  The regretful look, the half-
assed apology.  The end of something that had barely started.
A concerned furrow marred Cas' forehead, taking hold of Dean's arm to stop him
from going any further, gentle pressure that turned him around.  "I'm sorry." 
He blurted out, not even sure why he was, just knowing it might fix things
again.  If having Dean meant keeping secrets, then he would.
"Cas, don't--" he pulled away, letting out a tired breath, refusing to meet his
gaze.  "Don't apologize, I get it, okay?"
Shuffling back slightly, Castiel nodded, suddenly smaller in appearance.  "I'll
do better next time."
"Do better at what?"  He barked out a sharp laugh, hands out at his sides. 
"Keeping me your dirty little secret?"
Castiel gave him a look of complete confusion.  "You're not my secret...  I
never said that."
"You didn't have to."
Realization dawned on him, and if Dean didn't look so upset, he would have
laughed.  "You think I'm ashamed of you?"  Cas asked, advancing on him.
"Think?"  Dean scoffed, retreating a few steps, stopping only when he
stumbled.  "Cas, you weren't exactly subtle about it."
"Neither were you."  He accused.
"I don't--  I don't know what to dohere, Cas."  He said, voice cracking, almost
desperate.  "I don't know what you want.  I don't know what's allowed."
Castiel let out a frustrated sigh, moving in on him again.  "I want you to
listen to me carefully.  I will not be your dirty little secret, and you won't
be mine.  I don't care if people look, or if they know."  Cas told him, leaning
in close enough to feel warm, if slightly quickened breath against his lips. 
“I want you.  And if anyone else has a problem with that, they can fuck off.  I
won’t hide you.”
Cas lingered a moment, let his words marinate between them as he took in the
searching look on Dean’s face before he angled his mouth down and kissed him. 
A brief touch-and-release kiss, there and gone in a moment, but not tentative. 
It was firm and solid, leaving no room for argument, and Cas pulled back just
long enough to see relief spread over Dean’s features before he was leaning in
for another kiss, longer this time.
Dropping his backpack to the ground with a dull thump, Dean let his hands come
up, grasping at what he could.  One curled just beneath Castiel's jaw, rounding
at the back of his neck, and the other clutched at the leather of his coat as
he kissed back.  A thousand needles burned under Dean’s skin, coaxing a needy
sound out of him, and he pressed flush against Cas as their mouths slanted
together.  The sound Castiel replied with was nearly a purr, deep and satisfied
as he guided Dean back, a hand curled against his cheek.  After a long moment,
he broke to suck in a sharp breath, only to lean back in and kiss him all over
again, vaguely aware of a bell ringing-- how much time had passed?  How long
had they been kissing?  Surely only a few seconds, not minutes-- though it was
distant, far too distracted by the press of a body against his.
The metal was cold against Dean’s back, even through his shirt, and it only
made Dean cling to Castiel more.  He was lost in it-- the feeling of lips on
his, the press and pull of Castiel's mouth, and the taste of him lingering on
his tongue as it deepened.  There was a clatter, of voices and laughter and
shoes slapping against the floor as students started to head back to class, but
Dean was too busy.  Jerking him closer, hand dropping from his jacket to hook
his fingers in a belt loop, he tugged Cas more firmly against him until they
were pressed from thigh to shoulder. 
A sharp wolf whistle brought Cas crashing back to reality, pulling back
abruptly to find they'd gathered a bit of attention.  Panting softly, a dark
flush on his cheeks, Castiel tried to shuffle back only to find fingers curled
into his jeans.  Swallowing thickly, he offered a nervous smile up at Dean.
Dean grinned, tangling his fingers into his hair as he pulled him in for
another kiss, breathless and positively giddy.  Cas was going to pull back, but
the encouraging tug of fingers in his hair made him forget completely about
anything except the warm press of Dean's lips.
Breaking away after the catcalls grew too obnoxious, Dean laughed softly,
smoothing out the wreck he'd made of Castiel's hair.  "We should, um... we
should probably get to class."
"Probably."  Cas mumbled, painfully aware of the passing chorus of jeers going
on behind them.  Taking a step back, he ruffled a hand through his hair in
feeble attempt to calm it down, lips reddened.
Pushing off of the lockers, he stooped down to pick up his bag, standing and
hesitating only a brief moment before he reached out to catch Castiel's fingers
loosely with his.  "Walk me?"
He smiled over at Dean, fingers locking more securely with his, walking away
with him.  "Where are we headed?"
"English.  We're readingOedipus Rextoday.  Exciting stuff."  He rolled his
eyes, nudging into his side affectionately, noting a few sparse stares, but
nothing more than mild interest in their gazes as Dean and Cas walked down the
hall together.
Cas let out a soft chuckle, leading him towards his class.  "I never did like
that play much."
"Because it's gross or because by this point in Greek tragedies, the Fate theme
has been so played out that it's disgusting?"  He quipped, following along with
a smile on his face.
"Both."  Castiel replied, "I had to put it down a few times and try to forget
what I just read.  I mean, his mother, really?"
"In his defense, he didn't know it was his mom until later."  Dean shrugged,
and then shuddered, a frown forming on his face.  "But that doesn't forgive him
for when he kept sleeping with her even after he knew.  Even after she knew. 
Ahh, gross, can we stop talking about it?"
Cas' nose crinkled, shuddering at the idea.  "Let’s."
As they came up to Dean's classroom door, he slowed to a stop, turning to look
at Castiel with a crooked smile.  "So, see you after school?  We've uh... we've
got tutoring still, right?  Probably be a good time to, ya know, talk things
out.  Make sure we know what exactly the boundaries are or... aren't?"
"Probably a good time for you to do your homework."  Cas reminded, leaning in
and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.  "We'll talk later."  He promised,
walking away without further word
Smiling to himself, Dean watched him go, turning only after Castiel disappeared
around a corner.  He startled slightly when he caught sight of Garth standing
there, more or less gawking at him.  Clearing his throat, he brushed by, giving
him a resigned look.  "What?"
"Did you just get a kiss from Cas?"  Garth asked, a knowing grin curling on his
face as he followed after his friend, and Dean shifted uncomfortably as he slid
into his desk.  Garth parked right next to him, twisting in his chair to keep
that smile-- stupidly triumphant-- pointed his way.  "You did, didn't you?"
"It's not the first one," he shrugged, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a
big deal.  Like it wasn't the hugest fucking deal.
Garth hit his arm, jittering excitedly, and Dean winced at the surprising
amount of force the strike had.  "Not the first one?  Dean Winchester, you tell
me what happened right now."
"C'mon, man, it's nothing special."
"Dean."
"Alright, alright."  He rolled his eyes, trying and failing to fight off the
goofy grin that spread over his face as he thought of the locker room, of the
trampoline in the fading light, of the kitchen (more than once), of his living
room (also more than once), and of the hallway just moments before.  "We're
uh... We're dating.  Me and Cas."
"Okay, I knew that, but you're finally kissin'?"  Garth pressed, and Dean shot
him a look.
"What do you mean you knew that?"
"Dean-o, my pal o' mine, you've been datin' the guy for practically a month." 
Garth smirked, pointing at him.  "It's yer own damn fault it took ya this long
to realize."
"I--"
The bell rung overhead, and Dean blinked owlishly, thinking back on the weeks
that he and Castiel had been interacting.  Of the touching and flirting, of
everything they'd shared between one another, and realized that-- despite all
of his fears-- they'd been dating the entire time.  It was simultaneously
disturbing and satisfying.  Settling back into his seat, he stared at his
teacher blindly, still dumbstruck and shell-shocked as the lecture began. 
===============================================================================
 
Castiel had spent the remainder of class with a goofy looking smile on his
face, satisfied and nearly feline as he pretended to focus on his biology work,
pen held lax between his lips.  The clamour of the final bell jerked him out of
his thoughts, startling him slightly, pen clattering to his desk where it
rolled off to settle on the floor.  Gathering his things, Castiel left his
class, leaving his pen behind as he walked back to Dean's locker, waiting with
steadfast patience.
Dean looked dazed when he walked up, like he'd heard something that he couldn't
quite believe, and he offered up a kind of loopy smile from down the hall as he
made his way over to Cas.  "Hi."
"Hello, Dean."  He said, resisting the urge to go over and kiss him again.
"Hi," he repeated, drifting closer and hovering before he gave a pointed look
at the locker Castiel was leaning against.
Scrambling to get off of Dean's locker, Cas offered a near bashful smile, heart
rate rising. It was ridiculous, someone shouldn't affect him like this.
Chuckling softly, Dean moved to it, jerking it open and slotting his books away
before he grabbed the ones he needed.  Reluctantly, fingers hesitating over his
texts, he gave him a fleeting look and tried for nonchalance.  "I told Garth
that we're dating."
Castiel gave a shrug, standing nearly uncomfortably close.  "How'd he take it?"
"He seemed to have the impression that we've been dating since September," Dean
replied mildly, shutting his locker and turning to look at him, the proximity
between the two of them minuscule and not finding a single problem with how
little space there was.  "So, I guess he took it well."
"September?"  Cas said, thinking it through for a moment.  "Yes, I suppose he
could have come to that conclusion." 
"Imagine," Dean grinned, leaning in a bit closer.  "We could have been pawing
at each other like this for months, and instead we waited this long."
Cas gave another shrug.  "They say love is blind."  He said simply, giving him
a quick peck on the lips as he pulled away.
"Love?"  Dean's heart stammered in his chest, and he searched Castiel's face
avidly.  Was this love?  Would it be?
Castiel just gave him a secretive smile and said no more on the topic, a
strange warmth spreading through his chest.
"Library, then?"  Dean asked, clearing his throat awkwardly, face flushing at
the smile Castiel offered.  "Homework and talking and all that jazz?"
"Library."  He agreed, pushing off the locker he was blocking and walking away,
gently motioning with his hand.
Following after him, he couldn't help but feel a nervous excited hum beneath
his skin, a constant itch that wouldn't fade.  The thing that would always be
at the back of his mind, now.  Love.
The walk to Dean’s car and the ride to the public library was short but sweet,
and it went by in a bit of a haze.  Dean didn't really snap back to himself
until they were seated across from one another, his books sprawled out between
them.  Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, giving Cas a curious look.
"Homework first?  Or talking?"
A soft smile settled over Castiel’s face.  He could almost feel the buzz under
his skin from his place across from him.  Meeting his curious look easily,
Castiel gave a slight shrug.  "You look like you want to talk."
"Talking would be good," he said, hand sliding out over the table, stopping
halfway.  "I don't want another mix up like today.  That... that kinda sucked
until the tonsil hockey against the lockers."
Cas let out a soft chuckle.  "It was entertaining."  He agreed, expression
turning  serious.  "But I'd rather not have to make up in the middle of lunch
hour every time we misunderstand."
"That would be good, yeah."  Dean replied, smiling, hand flipping over in
invitation.  "So let's get things straight.  Figure everything out."
"Well, as straight as possible."  He teased, trying to make light of the
situation.  Pressing a hand over Dean's, he rubbed over his wrist slowly.  "So,
you're okay with people knowing?"
"Yes, of course."  He said, watching as Castiel's fingers moved over his skin,
his own curling to trace out imaginary patterns in reply.  "I don't care who
knows-- I'm not ashamed of who I am or being with you.  I was just worried you
were."
"Do I look like I give two shits about what the general populace thinks of
me?"  Cas asked, knowing it was a little untrue.
"Sometimes," Dean said blatantly, shrugging a shoulder.  "So we're public.  No
hiding it.  From family too?"
"Gabriel already figured it out, and I doubt you'll be meeting anyone else, so
no."
"Sam knows.  Bobby and Jody don't, but they won't care.  Neither will Ellen." 
Dean replied, and he frowned for a moment.  "I don't really tell my dad much of
anything, but I think he'd be too drunk to care."
Cas nodded slowly, a little skeptical about telling Dean's father regardless of
his inebriation levels.  "As long as you're okay with it, you're welcome to
tell him, frankly I'd like to avoid any and all contact."
"Don't like my dad, huh?"  He asked, bemused.
"What gave it away?"  Cas grumbled.
Laughing softly, he gave him a pointed look.  "You're not subtle about it."
"I know."  Cas said flatly, squeezing his hand gently, trying to keep from
settling too far into his hatred of Dean's father.
"It's kinda sweet, actually."  He muttered, glancing down. 
"One of us has to hate him."  He said bluntly.
Snorting, he looked up with a derisive expression.  "C'mon, Cas.  He's my dad. 
And I can take a couple of hits."
"But you shouldn't have to."  He insisted.
Dean opened his mouth to say something reassuring, but shut it again when he
couldn't come up with anything.  Letting his fingers trail over Cas' palm, he
gave him a small smile.  "You're right.  But I do.  I have to."
Castiel let out an angry huff, the fingers trailing on his palm doing little to
soothe him.
"I can't lose Sam, Cas."
"I know.  I just don't like either of you hurt."
"Sam-- Sam doesn't get hurt," he said, giving him a sad look, but there was a
fierce protectiveness in his gaze.  "Just me."
With a soft huff, he nodded.  "I figured as much."  He mumbled, squeezing his
hand softly.
"He doesn't hurt me much, Cas."  Dean insisted, letting their fingers lace
together.  "And it isn't often."
"But he still does."  Cas growled, feeling himself getting angrier, the hand
not curled in Dean's clamping down on the desk.
"He doesn't mean to," he said weakly, thumb brushing soothingly over his hand. 
"He just... gets drunk and it happens."
"That's a terrible excuse."
"I wish I could offer a better one."
Cas shook his head, letting out a long sigh to keep himself in check.  "Can we
talk about something else, please?"  He asked, a little desperate.
"Yes," he breathed, nudging at his foot.  "We can talk about us some more. 
Since there is an us."
Nodding gratefully, Castiel offered a shaky smile.  "There is."  He said,
squeezing at his hand.  "Did Meg really ask you for a threesome?"
Face going a brilliant red, Dean choked on a gasp, sputtering for a moment. 
"I, uh-- I, no... Yes?"
His eyes narrowed in mild suspicion for a moment until he realized exactly what
that would look like.  A slow smirk spread his lips.  "She always was
ambitious."
Clearing his throat, Dean searched his expression warily, brow quirking up and
face still pink.  "What's that grin about?"
"It'd be interesting."  He said, half absent as his mind wandered only to
abruptly stop when he realized the entire thing involved Dean and two people
that weren't him.  "But I don't share."
"I don't either," he informed him, but there was a smile curling on his face as
he leaned in.  "Were you just thinking about me and two women?"
"Yes."  He replied, blunt and to the point.  "It's a nice visual."
"Is it now?"  Dean canted his head, squeezing his hand, foot nudging between
Castiel's.  "And what else have you been thinking about that involves me and
nice visuals?"
A soft flush burned Cas' cheeks, withdrawing a little, suddenly very aware of
the direction this conversation was taking.  "A few things."  He admitted.
Frowning, Dean tugged his hand closer when he felt him starting to pull away,
the other one reaching out over the table for Castiel's free one.  "Does this
make you uncomfortable?"
He shook his head, "No, but it might make youuncomfortable."
Biting his lower lip, hesitant and nervous, Dean brought their hands together,
staring at the tangled mess for a moment before he finally mustered up the
courage to speak.  "I've... I've thought about you and me on that trampoline. 
About what would've happened if we hadn't stopped."
He swallowed thickly, shifting a little in his seat.  "I think breakfast would
have been really late."
"Probably," Dean shrugged, but he was grinning, eyes alight with something like
mirth.  "You know, I'll tell you if I'm uncomfortable, Cas.  If I'm not ready
for something.  I mean, we both want each other-- that's all I felt towards you
at first, anyways.  Attraction and mild irritation."  Fingers traced the lines
of Cas' palms, gentle and affectionate.  "I don't think we should be so shy
about it.  You aren't going to scare me off."
Begrudgingly, he returned Dean's smile, nervous as he spoke.  "I just don't
want to push too hard and do something stupid."
"You won't."  Dean replied with surprising confidence.
"You don't know that."
Dean gave him a plaintive look.  "Are you planning on pushing me too far?"
Cas shook his head, eyes fixed on the tangle of their hands.  "I don't plan a
lot of things."
"Do you want to?"  He pressed, having a point, and just waiting to guide
Castiel to it.
He shook his head again, chancing a look up at him.
Leaning in, he smiled, soft and fond.  "You don't plan on pushing me too far. 
You don't want to.  Then you won't, Cas.  You'll stop yourself.  You'll keep
yourself from pushing too hard."
Cas shifted a little, going through the what if's as briefly as he could
considering the sheer volume.  "You think so?"
"I know so."
"That's very presumptuous of you."
"Is it?"  Dean smiled, fingers dragging over Cas’.  "I don't think so."
"I do."  He replied, offering a near pained smile.
"I'll tell you.  I promise, I'll tell you, Cas."  Dean breathed, expression
softening as he squeezed his fingers.  "If you don't trust yourself, at least
trust me."
The expression on his face was uncharacteristically vulnerable, shoulders
hunching over.  "I trust you."
"Then it's a non-issue."  He said, wanting nothing more than to kiss that look
away.  "We'll trust one another.  And that trusting could, perhaps, involve
some less than appropriate touching.  How's that?"
He nodded slowly, blind faith only going so far to help soothe his fears.  "I
think we can manage that."
"Good," he offered a smile, hoping the situation had been defused. 
Squeezing gently at his hands, Cas offered a shaky smile, tentative almost.
"Do you wanna get out of here?"
He was so lost in thought, he completely forgot about the objective of these
meetings, nodding silently, reluctant to let go of Dean's hands.  He just
wanted this to go well, afraid of losing the closest relationship he'd ever
had.
Noticing the way fingers seemed to tighten-- almost desperately-- in his, Dean
leaned in a bit more, holding his gaze.  "Let's go get something to eat.  The
Roadhouse is open, and Ellen gives me free food.  It could be like a date."
Cas nodded again, getting up from his seat and gathering his things.  "I'd like
that."
 
 
***** Serendipitous *****
Ellen's was bustling when they walked in, not busy but certainly not slow. 
Dean was moderately surprised to see so many people there-- and so early on a
weekday.  Walking up to the hostess desk, he leaned casually against it,
knowing that the Wait to Be Seated sign didn't exactly apply to him considering
that he worked there, but he wanted to see who was on the floor for the
afternoon and rest of the evening.  Turning to glance at Cas, he smiled,
feeling strangely elated to be on such an outing with him.
"Please, tell me you aren't here to cause trouble."  Jo's voice made Dean turn
back, and he grinned at her cheekily.
"Aren't I always?"
"Does my mom know you're here?"  She asked, crossing her arms haughtily, but
there was a teasing smile on her face.  "Or are you just here to bother me?"
"Actually I'm here to eat."  He said simply, pushing to stand up straight. 
"Table for two."
Jo frowned, looking over Dean's shoulder, searching for something and only
finding Castiel.  What could only be interpreted as confusion flickered over
her face even as she plucked up two menus.  Rounding the desk, she stood before
Dean, too close to be casual as she stared up at him.
"Where's Sam?"
"Probably at Andy's."  Dean shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets.  "Me
and Cas are grabbing a bite."
Castiel still didn't quite know if he trusted Jo, watching her warily as she
stood a little too close to Dean for his liking.  He stood a little smaller
than he usually might, nearly pressed up against Dean's side, the closeness
setting him at ease despite his worries.  He followed on as Jo lead them to a
table, reaching out and grabbing Dean's hand out of instinct.
Jo blinked as they sat down, Dean making sure to pull Castiel down into the
booth beside him instead of sitting across from one another, and her expression
almost seemed wounded.  "Uh... What-- What can I get you guys to drink?"
"Water would be good," Dean said, taking his menu with an oblivious smile,
pressing into Castiel with their fingers twining together.
Cas let out a long breath as they settled in, clearing his head, focusing on
the warmth of Dean's hand in his.  "What he said."
"I'll let your server know," she glanced between them, a wrinkle forming
between her brows as she drifted off, glancing periodically back at them before
she disappeared around a corner. 
After she'd gone, Dean turned to Cas, smiling at him.  "You okay?"
Castiel nodded, returning his smile, albeit smaller.  "I will be.  Sorry about
before.  I got carried away."
"It's fine.  You're allowed to get carried away."
His smile broadened a little, glad that Dean was so understanding.  "Thank
you."
Shrugging, he appeared nonchalant, but there was a teasing glimmer in his
eyes.  "No big deal."
Leaning against him, Cas let out a soft sigh, pressing a quick kiss to his
cheek.
"So," Dean opened up his menu, blushing faintly at the lips that pressed to his
skin.  "What do you want to eat?"
Deciding to forgo his own menu in favour of peering over at Dean's, Castiel
hummed in contemplation, perking up considerably upon discovering the burgers. 
"Cheeseburger."
Snorting faintly, he nudged into his side, grinning broadly.  "You'll be happy
to know that the cheeseburger is one of the best meals in the house.  You'll
like it."
A warm smile quirked his lips, letting out a pleased hum at the news.  "There
is nothing worse than a bad burger."
"Oh, I'm pretty sure there are worse things."  He laughed, skimming through a
menu he'd already memorized, thumb brushing over Cas’ hand as he snuggled in
closer.  He liked this, being able sit with him like this, hold his hand, be
affectionate with him whenever he liked.  If Dean believed in such a thing,
he'd say it was a bit like Heaven.  "You've obviously never had a charlie horse
in the middle of a 500 meter race."
"What the fuck is a charlie horse?"  Cas asked, brow furrowing in confusion.
Dean laughed again, giggles bubbling up past his lips, and he had to muffle it
in his hand as his amusement spilled out and overflowed.  "It's-- It's a kind
of cramp, Cas."
"Then just call it a cramp."  He said flatly, finding Dean's laughter
endearing, a fond smile on his face.
"It's a specific kind," he was still chuckling, face flush with his bemusement,
letting his forehead rest against Castiel's shoulder.  "In your calf.  You get
it in your calf."
"You are so weird."  Cas mumbled, chuckling along with him despite his words.
"I'm not weird!"  Dean balked, elbowing him half-hearted.  "It's a common
term!  You're the weird one for not knowing it."
Grinning cheekily up at him, Cas rolled his eyes.  "Weirdo."
"You'rea weirdo," he accused lamely.
"No, you are."  He retorted, nudging against his ribs.
"Am not," Dean squirmed back from the touch, giving him a warning glare-- half-
hearted and mostly ruined by the smile on his face.  "You are."
"How so?" He asked, giving a playful lab at his stomach.
Slapping at his hand, muscles jerked in reaction, and he bit back another
laugh.  "You don't watch TV.  What self-respecting, normal teenager doesn't
watch TV?"
"I never said I was normal." Castiel countered, grinning at him.
"I wouldn’t want you to be."  Dean stated.
Castiel didhave a witty remark about insane boyfriends lined up, but it died as
Dean kissed him, letting out a soft sigh.
Pulling back after a lingering moment, Dean nudged gently at his nose.  "We
could just skip the food and go make out in the back of the Impala."
It was a very tempting offer, humming quietly as he considered it.  "We
could."  He agreed, letting go of his hand in favour of resting it on his
thigh.
"We could," Dean repeated, breath catching faintly at the hand on his leg, and
he leaned in for another kiss, only stopping short as their server walked up,
setting their waters on the table for them.  Jumping slightly, he pressed his
hand down over Castiel's, keeping it on his thigh as he looked up at a familiar
face.  "Tess, hey."
"Dean," she smirked knowingly, and he couldn't help the blush that burned his
face.  "What can I get for you and your friend?"
Castiel raising his head with a slightly putout expression when they were
interrupted, looking over their waitress, briefly debating correcting her.  A
little thrill went through him as he remembered that they weren't friends
anymore.  "I'll take a cheeseburger and a chocolate shake, and I don't know
about him."
"The usual?"  She asked him, not bothering to write the order down.  Dean
nodded meekly, and her expression softened, giving him a wink as she turned to
walk away.  "I'll let Ash know what you want, and I'll get it out to you as
soon as possible.  Try not to get too grabby."
"Thanks, Tessa."  Dean cleared his throat, feeling a bit like he'd been caught
with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Do you know everyonehere?"  Cas asked, squeezing at his thigh gently.
"I, uh," he swallowed thickly, acutely aware of the hand on his thigh, and he
only flushed worse when he realized how much he didn't mind it.  How much he
wouldn't mind if it moved a little higher.  How much he wanted it to.  "I work
here sometimes, remember?"
Catching his reaction, Cas let his hand wander a little, sliding to the inside
of his thigh.  "Really?  How many jobs do you have?"
"Three," Dean squeaked and cleared his throat, eyes dark as he looked at him. 
He shuddered at the feeling of heat through his jeans, long fingers at the
inside seam of his pants, and he forced himself still.  Forced himself to see
where Cas would take things.
Briefly, Cas looked down, a slow smirk curling his lips as he squeezed at his
thigh again.  "Three?"  He asked, leaning in a little.  "How do you find any
time for yourself, working all the time?  School?  Sleep?  Taking care of Sam?"
"I uh," his mouth went dry, and he couldn't help but shift a little, unwilling
to call it squirming.  "The shower is a pretty good place to find time for
myself."
"Maybe one day you can show me."  He said, tone dropping to a near purr as he
leant in closer, nipping playfully under his ear. 
Swallowing thickly, Dean felt his heart fall over itself for a moment at the
thought, and he knew that he would have more than a little inspiration when he
finally took things into his own hands that night.  Breath coming just vaguely
uneven, he let his head fall to the side slightly, offering up the expanse of
his neck to that wondering mouth.
“And here I thought you were nervous about pushing me too hard.”  Dean replied,
hand finding Castiel's at his thigh as he let his legs fall open, practically
in invitation.  "If you play your cards right, maybe I'll show you soon."
The sound Cas let out was akin to a growl, hand sliding up Dean’s leg as far as
he dared considering the venue.  "Is your car still an option?"
Turning to meet his gaze, eyes dark, his breath came shallow.  "Definitely
still an option."
He held Dean’s gaze for a long moment, heated as he let his hand inch up just
that little bit more and squeezed gently between his legs.  "We should get
going before I jump you here."
A whine catching in his throat, he nodded, heat coiling in him like a spring
just ready to snap.  Cas' hand was so close to where he wanted it, and his hips
shifted minutely, feeling fingers brush along the seam with just enough
pressure to make fire pool below his navel.  He wanted him, and he wanted him
bad.
"Let's go," Dean murmured, voice rough and husky, strained with desire.  "Now--
"
"Dean Winchester, you did not tell me you were seeing somebody!"  A cheerful,
warm voice cut through, and Dean blanched and then turned red all over again in
a matter of seconds as he pulled his face away from Castiel's just enough to
smile at Ellen.
"Sorry about that," he croaked, still keenly aware of the hand laying over his
crotch, of the way his abdomen flexed with nervousness, all warm and
fluttering.  "It's sort of new.  Cas, this is Ellen.  Ellen, this is Cas, my
boyfriend."  Turning to give Castiel a pointed look, he glanced down and back
up quickly, as if telling him to move his hand.  "Ellen is a family friend and
my boss."
Castiel turned to acknowledge her without missing a beat, squeezing at his
crotch again, ever so subtle as he smiled charmingly at Ellen.  "Pleasure to
meet you."  He said, covering up the arousal in his tone with practiced ease.
"He's a looker, Dean-o."  Ellen smiled, sliding into the seat across from them,
and Dean felt panic tighten in his stomach.  This isn't happening, oh my god.
Castiel's hand was on his cock.  Castiel's hand was on his cock.  Despite the
layers between the warmth of his palm and the length of him being constricted
in his jeans, it still had him twitching with interest, and swallowing down a
helplessly needy sound.  He ached, trying to shift back away from his hand
subtly, hating how calm and collected Castiel seemed despite the fact that his
hand was on Dean's cock.  Dean had to force himself not to squirm, but
something in his expression must have cued Ellen to something, and she gave him
a chiding look.
"Easy, boy, I'm not gonna scare him off or anything," she hummed, turning her
gaze on the young man in question.  "So, Cas, I haven't seen you around or
heard much about you yet-- not from Dean anyways.  How'd you two meet?"
As casual as ever, Cas leant forward, chin rested comfortably on a open palm as
he smiled over at Ellen, giving a subtle squeeze at the strained material in
his hand.  "I'm his tutor.  We met months ago, I'm surprised he hasn't said
anything."
"Now, a tutor he's definitely mentioned."  Ellen gave Dean another look, and he
gave a weak shrug, far too distracted by the hand on him, and by the way his
hips rocked forward of their own accord.  His own hand gripped at Castiel's
wrist, tugging meekly, trying not to be too obvious about what he was doing. 
"However, he didn't say you were so charming.  Though, it makes a bit more
sense seeing you now and considering just how much he went on about his tutor."
"I didn't go on about him--"
"Dean, aside from work and Sam, he was all you really had to talk about." 
Ellen replied, turning her attention to Cas and lowering her voice in mock
conspiracy.  "I figured he had a crush, but I didn't want to say anything."
"Took him long enough to figure it out," Castiel chuckled, ignoring the hand on
his wrist, though he let up the pressure on his crotch.  "Isn't that right,
sweetheart?"
Letting out a faint sigh of relief, he gave him a bitter looking smile that
didn't reach his eyes-- still dark, still wanting.  "You did not just call me
sweetheart."
"I believe he did, Dean."  Ellen snickered, though there was something
assessing in her gaze, as if gauging how they were with one another.  "Haven't
gotten to petnames, yet, then?  You weren't lyin' when you said it was a new
thing."
Castiel hadn't expected a positive response, giving Dean a cheeky little grin,
all impish as he gave his cock a squeeze.  "He doesn't do petnames, I just like
messing with him."
Dean buried his face in one of his hands, hiding the look of rapture that
spread over his features, and Ellen took it as embarrassment.
"Well, good.  A pushover won't do for our boy, will it?"  Ellen beamed at him
before turning to Dean.  "I gotta get back to balancing the books, but you know
the meal is on the house.  Enjoy it.  And Dean?"
He peered up over the edge of his fingers, hoping he looked meek rather than
fighting off the urge to rock against Castiel's hand wantonly.
"Be sure to bring your boyfriend around more often," she smiled softly,
brimming with affection.  "Seems like a pretty decent catch, if you ask me."
"Thanks, Ellen."  He said, nodding slowly, body tense and expression carefully
schooled.  "That means a lot."
"Sure thing."  She replied, sliding out of the booth, and beginning the walk
back to her office.  "And don't forget you've got work Wednesday night."
"Won't!"  He called, waiting until she'd turned her back before he slapped at
Castiel's arm, trying in vain to get him to get his paws off of him.
"She seems nice."  Cas commented, a smug look on his face as he gave Dean's
crotch another squeeze.
Moaning, Dean's eyes widened comically, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to
muffle the sound.  His eyes fluttered shut, and he rutted forward a moment
before he could stop himself, a breathy sound escaping him.  "You're a prick. 
A giant, fucking prick.  'M never bringing you out again."
"Yes, you will."  He said confidently, pulling his hand away, deciding he'd had
his fun.
Glaring over at him, he slumped forward against the table, aching with desire,
and his cock was straining against the confines of his clothes.  Dean squirmed,
pouting as he glowered.  "You're still a prick.  You planning on doing that in
front of every would-be family member?"  He huffed, shoving at his side.  "Move
your ass, I need to get up."
"Had enough have we?"  Cas asked, a cheeky grin on his face, moving so Dean
could slide out of the booth.
Standing, he invaded Castiel's space, eyes dark as he leaned in just close
enough to kiss but didn't go the final mile.  "If you must know, I have to go
to the restroom.  I've got something to take care of."  Pulling back, he
grinned wryly, blatantly taunting him as he turned and all but sauntered away.
Somehow, Cas didn't see that coming, nearly choking on his own tongue as he
realised.  The little fucker.  Cursing softly, he sat petulantly back in his
seat, disappointed he'd miss what he knew would be a wonderful show.
By the time Dean returned, he looked fresh-faced and relaxed, far too sinuous
to be normal.  He smiled lazily at Castiel as he slid back onto their seat,
pressing up next to him.  Leaning into his side, he gave him a smug look. 
"Hi."
Cas all but pouted when he came back, trying to ignore the little details about
Dean's gait, and general air that screamed 'yes I just got off, and no you
weren't invited.'  Ignoring him as best he could, he shifted away, leveling a
glare at him.
"What's that face for?"  He teased lightly, slipping after him, pressing close
again, knowing he was just butt hurt.
He huffed softly, not moving any further despite his mild, and very childish
annoyance.  "You know why."
"Do I?"  He chuckled, resting a chin at his shoulder, humming his content. 
"Oh, wait.  You mean that whole bathroom thing?  Don't look so put out, baby." 
Dean leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.  "If you ask nicely, I can
do a repeat performance later."
He perked up considerably at the petname, turning his head to catch his lips in
a brief kiss.  "I'll remember that."
Grinning, mostly to himself, he nodded as he settled more comfortably next to
him.  "I'm sure you will."
Curling an arm around his waist, Castiel leant back in their booth, a smile
spreading his lips. "I'll bring it up when you least expect it."
"Just as long as it isn't in front of anyone I know," he shrugged, leaning into
his hold.  "It sounds like a plan to me."
Nudging softly at his neck, Cas let out a soft sigh, enjoying the warmth they
shared.  He liked this, more so than he had any of his few other dates. 
Humming, Dean took Castiel's free hand in his, laying it out over the table top
and spread it out palm up.  Dean let his fingers trace over the lines of his
hand, as if trying to memorize each one, content with the arm around his
waist. 
Inhaling deeply, he let a smile play over his features as Tessa walked up with
their plates.  She grinned at the sight of Dean tangled up with Castiel,
setting their meals down in front of them.  Cas offered a soft smile at their
waitress, uncharacteristically subdued.  Reluctantly, he sat up, realising that
cuddled up to someone isn't the best way to dine.  Sniffing carefully, he
hummed in approval, all greasy meat that he assumed was beef and slightly
wilted lettuce.
"Just let me know if you need refills on anything-- and I'll get your pie for
you when you're ready to go, Dean."  She said, and he beamed at her.
"Thanks, Tess."
"No problem, kiddo."  She winked and then walked off again, leaving the two of
them be.
Dean missed the heat of him, but was happy to dig in.  Giving one last smile to
Castiel, he turned his attentions to the plate before him, deciding that this
had been a very successful first date.
Hopefully the first of many. 
***** Take All You Need To Make You Love Me (Be Mine) *****
Castiel wouldn't have even noticed the pending holiday if it wasn't for
Gabriel's insistent counting.  His brother had taken quite the shine to the
idea of spending the day at Dean's, a fact that made Cas hiss in mild
jealousy.  Every reminder he got only heightened his nerves until on the
morning of Thanksgiving, he was a wreck, hands shaking as he tried and failed
to get his hair to just sit the fuck down for once.    Considering the fact
that this was supposed to be a celebration, Cas had a sinking suspicion his day
was going to be closer to an appraisal; the entirety of Dean's family being in
attendance.
"C'mon, Cassie.  We're gonna be late."  Gabriel called, interrupting his
thoughts.  Letting out a shaky sigh, he looked himself over in the mirror one
last time, already having discarded the tie on his black button down, much more
comfortable without the tiny noose around his neck.
By the time they got to Dean's, Castiel was nearly vibrating out of his own
skin, sweaty palmed when he recognized Bobby Singer’s car in the driveway.
 Swallowing thickly, he was about to land a tentative knock on the door when
Gabriel did it for him, loud and brash in his usual style. 
"Chin up, Cas.  There's free food."
Jody Mills was not who they had expected to answer the door, but she was, and
she smiled at the two of them.  "Well, if it isn't my two favorite Novaks." 
She chirped at them, looking far too casual without her Sheriff's uniform on as
she propped the door open for them.  "Come on in, boys, there are snacks in the
living room."
If Cas wasn't panicking before, he definitely was now.  The Sheriff. 
Wonderful.  Just what a couple of cheap crooks needed to start the day.
 Offering a shaky smile, he walked inside, suddenly very conscious on the few
wrinkles in his shirt.  Gabriel had no such fears, offering her a lazy grin as
he moved in to happily assimilate with the crowd.
Jody shut the door behind them.  The family room was more crowded than usual-
- Sam was tucked away between Bobby and Jody's son, a cartoon playing over the
TV screen-- small, poorly drawn children dancing and playing music, an odd
little cult classic that seemed to play on ABC Family at least once a year. 
Plates of appetizers littered the coffee table, and the smell of food cooking
filled the house.  It was more homey than it had been most of the year.
"Cas!"  Sam spotted him instantly, scrambling off of the spot he'd been wedged
on the couch, and he rushed over beaming.  "You made it.  Dean was worried you
guys wouldn't come."
Cas startled a little as Sam raced up to him, offering a small smile as he
debated on pulling him into hug before deeming it too awkward.  "Wouldn't miss
it." 
It was only a little lie considering his apprehension about the other guests. 
Gabriel had since taken to a staring match with the Sheriff’s son, head tilted
near bird like as he tried to make the kid laugh with odd faces.
"He's in the kitchen," Sam supplied, smirking and gesturing with a familiar
jerk of his head-- he looked so much like Dean in that moment.  "He's kinda
nervous honestly.  Don't tell him I told you."
He nodded in understanding, shifting from foot to foot, eager to be both out of
the crowd of virtual strangers and with Dean.  "Thank you."  Cas said, walking
away to see his boyfriend.
Dean was rushing around the kitchen, completely in his own world as he moved
from dish to dish.  He was wearing an apron, dress slacks giving Castiel a
lovely view of his ass as he leaned down to check on something that smelled
absolutely tantalizing in the oven.  Huffing out a frustrated breath, Dean
stood, dragging a hand through his hair.  He looked flustered and rushed, and
there was flour smeared over his cheek.
It was terribly endearing, and a soft smile curled over Cas' lips as he
watched, nerves melting away slowly.
"Not ready yet?"  Meg asked dryly from where she was leaning against the
counter.
"No.  Of course not.  Naturally."  He huffed in irritation, leaning over the
stove top in order to set the timer again.  "Jesus fucking christ, is nothing
going to cook right today?"
Dean turned to look at her and came to a faltering stop as he spotted Castiel
standing in the doorway.  "You're here."
"Of course."  He said simply, and Meg rolled her eyes at the two of them.
Dean let his gaze drift down over him, and he felt suddenly self-conscious in
his polo and khakis, but was extremely appreciative of how Cas was dressed. 
"You look good."
He flushed faintly at the compliment, giving a modest shrug and resisting the
urge to say: 'this old thing' to avoid any further mention.  "So do you."  He
said honestly, though he wasn't necessarily talking about only his clothes.
"Oh, my god."  Meg groused, pushing off the counter, heading for the exit. 
"Gag me already.  Would you two get a room?  Preferably private and sound
proof?"
Laughing, Dean palmed the back of his head, blushing slightly as he stared at
Castiel expectantly, waiting until Meg had disappeared into the living room
before speaking again.  "I'm glad you decided to show up.  I wanted you here."
Moving closer to Dean, he wiped the smear of flour off his cheek, pressing a
soft kiss to his lips.  "I couldn't just not turn up."
Humming, Dean smiled, fingers catching in Cas' belt loops in order to pull him
in for another kiss.  "I feel like I haven't seen you all week."
"Forty eight hours."  Cas informed, draping his arms around Dean's neck.
Dean hummed again, leaning in and nudging at his nose.  "Still too long. 
Especially after spending so much time together."
"Needy."  Cas accused, a playful glint in his eyes.
"Only for you," he quipped, but there was an earnestness about it.
A warm smile curved his lips, seeing the honesty to Dean's words. "I know." Cas
mumbled, kissing him again.
Humming against his lips, Dean wrapped an arm around his waist, the other hand
sinking into Castiel's hair.  Their mouths slanted over one another's, and Dean
shivered in delight.  They spent far too much time kissing.
Letting out a soft sound, Cas shifted a little closer, faintly aware that his
attempt to control his hair was now ruined by a very comfortable hand buried in
it; though at this point, he couldn't bring himself to care.  Pulling back,
faintly breathless, Cas smiled over at him, leaning back in and kissing him
once more.  Dean let out a content sound, angling his head to deepen it. 
Pressing more flush against Cas' chest, Dean kissed him thoroughly, giving a
flick of his tongue over the roof of Cas' mouth.  Dean felt a happiness unfurl
in him, like a bright blossom, warm and lively in his chest. 
After a moment, Cas pulled back again, nudging at Dean's nose softly.  "At this
rate, you'll burn lunch."  He teased.
"Dinner," he corrected mildly, refusing to move from Cas' hold, smiling
lopsidedly.  "I'm glad you came, Cas."
"Glad you invited me."  Cas returned, unwilling to move just quite yet.
Smoothing out his hair, Dean canted his head, staring at him fondly.  Shuffling
a bit closer, Dean let his fingers stroke down Cas' neck, thumb brushing over a
pulse point.  Dean let out a vaguely regretful sigh, knowing he had to get back
to cooking soon.  Resting his forehead against Castiel's, he huffed, smiling
and shaking his head subtly.
"I'm such a fucking girl," Dean muttered.  He liked being so close to him,
liked having him here, liked him.
"Last I checked, you were very male."  Cas said calmly, letting a hand wander
down to cup between his legs.
"Jeezus, Cas."  He gasped, eyes widening.
They'd been doing this all week.  The teasing touches-- often in inappropriate
places-- that just left the tension between them rocketing up and up.  Dean
couldn't help but wonder when it would finally snap.
Cas moved his hand with a cheeky grin on his face, nipping softly at Dean's
bottom lip.  "Problem?" 
Dean's eyes fluttered as Castiel palmed him through his pants, and he had to
force himself not to lean in and kiss him.  "Yes.  Yes, problem.  Because as
much as I would love to let you actually finish what you start?  Now is, like,
the worst time ever."
With a soft sigh, Cas took his hand away, landing a soft pat on Dean's ass as
he pulled back.  "Later, then."
"You always say that, and then there is no later."  Dean gave him a look,
moving over to the stove in order to check on one of the pots.  "You, Castiel
Novak, are a giant, fucking tease."
"You're only just figuring that out?"
Laughing, Dean popped open a pan, grabbing a spoon to stir around the green
beans before he reached over and gripped a container of brown sugar, sauteing
them in butter and sprinkling some of it over them, watching as it turned into
a thick sauce.  "No, only just voicing it."  Glancing over his shoulder at him,
he smiled coyly, gesturing for him to come closer.  "Come and try this for me?"
Castiel moved as Dean asked, standing over a frankly delectable smelling
stovetop.
"What is it?"  He asked, a little dubious despite the smell.
Rolling his eyes, Dean scooped up one of the beans and offered it to him. 
"Just try it, okay?"
He leant in a took a bite of the offered food and promptly groaned.
"Yeah?"  Dean's brow quirked up, and he set the spoon aside, reaching over and
turning the oven off.  "Guess they're ready then.  But, just to be sure..."  He
leaned in, pressing his lips to Castiel's, tongue swiping deftly, catching some
remaining sugar before he pulled away.  "Yep.  They're ready."
Rolling his eyes at the sheer cheesiness of it.  "Tis an ill cook that cannot
lick his own fingers."  Cas reprimanded, licking what remained from his lips.
"Maybe I just wanted to get you over here," he said nonchalantly, moving to
pull a bowl over so that he could empty the pan into it.  "Or maybe I just
wanted to hear the sound you'd make when you tried it."
Cas hummed contemplatively, leaning over to steal a bean, eating it before Dean
could protest otherwise.  "They are very good."
"Each one you steal is just another kiss you owe me," he murmured, pouring them
out into the porcelain bowl with easy movements, and then turned to hand it to
him.  "Take this to the table for me?"
"I suppose I'll eat all of them then."  Cas retorted, taking the bowl and
carrying it out with no argument.
"Wait for dinner, Cas."  He chided, opening the oven to check on the rolls
baking-- the turkey was in the slow cooker and had been all morning.  Things
were almost ready, which was good.  He had been starving himself all day in
order to make enough room for the food he was making.  "Trust me, you'll want
to have plenty of space."
"I think you underestimate my ability to eat."  Cas said bluntly, walking back
over from the table.
"I think you underestimate how much food I've made," he said, pulling the rolls
from the oven as he placed it on the countertop.  "Seriously, there's a lot."
Cas shrugged stiffly, peering curiously at the food he was making.  "I haven't
had a Thanksgiving since I was ten."
"Well, you're about to have the best damn Thanksgiving you've ever
experienced."  He replied, moving over to the other bowls he'd left on the
counter, covered with foil to prevent heat from leaving.  "Start putting these
on the table too?  And get Sam to help?"
Cas nodded, carrying what he could to the table.  There was something strangely
cozy about the whole situation, the idle chatter coming from the living room,
and the smell of food cooking.  It was the closest he'd been to an actual home
for a long time.
"Hey, Sam, could you give me a hand with this?"  Cas asked, sticking his head
into the living room.
Sam looked away from where he and Gabriel had been talking intently about the
importance of Snoopy in the Charlie Brown cartoons and the merits of the Snoopy
dance, giving a petulant groan as he stood from his spot on the couch.  "Did
Dean put you up to this?"
"What do you think?"  Cas chuckled, flashing Gabriel a warning glance.
Gabriel laughed, turning his attentions back to the television as Sam joined
Castiel in the kitchen.  Jody asked if there was anything she could do, but
when Dean called from somewhere in the fridge to tell her to sit down and relax
for once, she quieted and settled back next to Bobby.  The old man pressed a
kiss to her cheek, his beer dangling from his fingertips. 
"Can I eat anything yet?"  Sam asked curiously, taking the large bowl that Dean
handed him with a sour expression.  "Anything not this?"
"No," he replied, ruffling his hair.  "And you make that face every year, but
you still eat the ambrosia."
"But you used marshmallows this time," his nose wrinkled, and Dean rolled his
eyes as he moved back over to the counter, grabbing more things for Cas to
carry for him.  "I don't like marshmallows."
"You'll try it, and you'll like it."
"Jerk," he muttered as he walked away, carrying the bowl with him to the table.
Castiel peered curiously at the bowl as Sam passed, sniffing at it as though he
was afraid it might bite.  "Marshmallows?  What the hell are they doing in
dinner?"
"It's a sweet salad," Dean mumbled distractedly, handing him a bowl of corn and
a platter of freshly cut fruit. 
Cas took the bowl, still a little concerned about the concept of sweet salad. 
He shrugged it off and carried the bowl to the table.
It wasn't long before all of the food had been placed on the table, pulled out
and set to near perfection.  The good china was out, as it always was on
special occasions, and the good silver was in its place on neatly folded
napkins.  Dean had taken a great deal of care setting the table, wanting
everything to be just right-- for Sam, for Meg, for Cas.  They deserved it,
after all. 
Smiling to himself, he hummed, placing the large serving dish at the center,
turkey carved out and separated into dark and light meat as he stood back,
mentally making sure everything was in place.  Satisfied, he turned, pulling
his apron off over his head.  "Alright, soup's up!  Everybody get their butts
in here!"
One would think, from the tenacity at which Gabriel scrambled to the table,
that the elder Novak had never been fed.  Castiel rubbed a hand over his jaw at
his brothers enthusiasm, muttering soft curses in a language that definitely
wasn't English.  He hovered at the table awkwardly for a moment, unsure of
where he was supposed to sit.
Dean pulled a chair out, plopping down unceremoniously, looking at Cas with an
expectant expression, the seat next to him open.  Sam sat at his other side,
and Bobby and Jody sat at the head of either side of the table.  Jack plopped
down at the side by his mother, and beamed up at Gabriel as the older man sat
next to him.  Castiel moved to sit as Dean requested, watching Gabriel's little
admirer with a soft smile of amusement.  Kids always had gotten along with his
goofball of a brother.
Bobby let out a satisfied sound, staring at the food laid out across the table,
and gave Dean a proud look.  "You did good, kiddo."
"Thanks," he chuckled, almost self-consciously, grabbing the water he had out
and taking a pull.  "You makin' us pray this year, or can we just dig in?"
"Ain't nuthin' wrong with a bit of prayer, Dean."  Bobby told him, voice soft
but chiding before turning his focus back on everyone else.  "C'mon, then. 
Hold hands, would'ja?"
Sighing, Dean held out his hands; Sam took it instantly and he leaned forward,
peering past his older brother to look at Cas, waiting apprehensively.
Cas hesitated for a moment, taking the offered hand.  Once, he'd done this
every night, before every meal, just as everyone else in his family had.  It
was familiar and oddly comforting, the strange feeling of connection that came
with it. 
Bobby cleared his throat and everyone bowed their heads, though Dean hesitated,
along with Meg, and they shared a look from across the table.  Religion was one
of those things they had in common-- or, rather, didn't have at all.  Squeezing
at the hands in his, he let his eyes fall shut, head hanging slightly in
supplication. 
"Lord, thank you for the food that we are about to receive.  For a day of
family and friends.  For all of the things you provide to your children.  You
are always welcome in our hearts and in our homes.  Amen."
A chorus of "amen"s echoed around the table, and they all dropped their hands,
looking ready to dig into the food that was laid out before them.  A straw
basket full of warmed rolls was passed around, and they set it on their plates,
everyone reaching for some bowl or platter of food.  Dean was in the middle of
serving himself up some freshly made cranberry sauce when he faltered.
"So, Castiel, I hear you and Dean are datin'."  Bobby said, completely out of
left field, and Dean blanched.
The slice of turkey Cas was holding over his plate nearly dropped from his
fork, swallowing thickly, suddenly very nervous all over again.  He wanted
nothing more than to just disappear.  Clearing his throat, he nodded.  "Uh. 
Yeah, we are."
Bobby pursed his lips, humming, looking over at Castiel assessingly.  "And what
exactly are your intentions?"
"Bobby!"  Dean balked, glaring over at him.
"It's a perfectly fine question," he grumbled, sitting up a bit straighter in
his seat as he glanced back over at Castiel pointedly.  "Now, your intentions,
boy?"
Swallowing thickly, Castiel shifted in his seat.  Unconsciously, he reached for
Dean's sleeve under the table, gripping at it.  The anchor helped him not to
stutter so much around his words.  "I mean him no harm, if that's what worries
you."
"I'm not assumin' you mean him any harm," Bobby smiled, but it wasn't as
pleasant as it might've been.  "But I'd like to know that you're not just
tryin' to get in my boy's pants."
Meg didn't even bother hiding her laughter, and Sam made a face, nose wrinkling
in distaste.  Dean choked on his own saliva, eyes comically wide as he stared
over at him.  "Bobby!"
"It's an honest to God question, Dean."
"Jody," Dean hissed, looking her way pleadingly. 
Sighing, she set her glass of wine aside.  "Robert Singer, there are children
present."
"Jackie doesn't know what I'm talkin' about, and Sam's old enough."  Bobby
shrugged, pressing forward despite the looks both Dean and Jody gave him in
response.  "You're older, graduating this year, from what I understand, right?"
Clearing his throat, Castiel sat a little straighter, holding Bobby's stare
despite his nerves.  "Would you prefer it if I wrote you out a contract in
sacrificial blood promising my celibacy, or is a simple promise good enough? 
Yes, I'm graduating this year, but frankly, I don't see how that affects
anything."
"As much as I enjoy not thinking about Dean doing anything other than rated-
G things, I don't expect many teenagers to be celibate."  Bobby replied, giving
him a vaguely scolding look for the sass.  "I'm just pointing out that you're a
bit older than Dean, and I just want to make sure you aren't planning on taking
advantage."
"Oh, my god, Bobby, could we not?"  Dean barked, blushing a terribly deep shade
of red.  They did not need to be having this conversation.  And Castiel
definitely didn't need Meg looking smug and amused from across the table, or
Gabriel sinking awkwardly into his chair. 
Perhaps the snark was not Castiel’s best decision.  Letting out a soft huff, he
let go of Dean's wrist, his previous nerves being replaced with blatant
exasperation.  "I could be a few centuries older than him and it wouldn't
change my attitude to the topic.  We've already discussed this at some length,
so if you'd be ever so kind and drop the subject, I'm sure Dean would be
thankful."
Bobby paused, peering at him and nodding his head slowly.  "Not planning on
taking advantage then.  Good to know.  What are you plannin' on doing after you
graduate?"
Dean sighed, reaching for the hand that had just let his wrist go. 
"Would you boys stop with the sighin'?"  Bobby groused.  "I've seen him at the
station more than once, Dean.  I'm just making sure he's the right kind of guy
for you."
"And you don't trust myjudgement?"  Dean asked, fingers lacing with Castiel's
beneath the table. 
"Not as far as I can throw you," he replied, taking a pull from his beer.
Meg smiled, small but knowing, and Dean felt her kick at his shoe.  "Bobby, if
it makes you feel any better, I can vouch for Castiel's... nobility.  He's a
good guy.  Just give him a chance."
“Alright, alright,” Bobby nodded, grinning.  “That still doesn’t answer my
question about what you’re doing when you’re graduatin’, Castiel.”
Castiel squeezed gently at the hand in his, offering a grateful smile in Meg's
direction.  "College, with any luck Juilliard, by they're very picky."
"And where's Julliard?"  Bobby asked curiously, and Dean looked over at
Castiel, brow furrowed.
"New York," Dean answered absently for him, feeling a pang of loss.  They
hadn't talked about it, about anything like it, and he was kicking himself for
forgetting that Castiel probably had plans.  That he wanted to get out of there
as much as Dean did.  Clearing his throat, he looked over at Bobby, feeling
sullen but hiding it behind a pleasant facade.  "It's in New York."
Bobby whistled.  "Long ways away.  What do you wanna do there?"
"Bachelor of Fine Arts in Drama."  Castiel replied, squeezing at Dean's hand
again. "It's a long shot.  They don't accept many people."
"Well, I wish you luck then."  Bobby said with a small grin, genuine.  "We've
been tryin' to talk to Dean about looking at colleges.  He's a might hesitant
about it.  Maybe you can talk some sense into him."
"I've already tried."  Cas said flatly, giving Dean a pointed look.
"Aaand on a different note," Dean cut in, desperately wanting the topic to
change.  "How is everything?"
Castiel ploughed onwards, tugging at his hand gently and leaning a little
closer to him.  "You're going to have to think about it eventually." 
"I've thought about it," he muttered, almost inaudible as he shuffled his food
around his plate, lies slipping over his lips.  "It's just...  I'm not
interested in anything yet."
"You like sports," Meg supplied helpfully.  "Or you're good at them anyways. 
And Charlie told me about the volunteerwork that you do at the library."
"Volunteer work?"  Jody asked curiously from around a bite of stuffing, hand
politely resting over her mouth.
Dean glanced over at her, shaking his head, trying his best to get her to shut
up.
Castiel raised his eyebrows, dulled metal glinting as he tilted his head.  "No,
go on.  I haven't heard about this yet."
Meg smirked, not even looking apologetic as Dean buried his face in his free
hand.  "He reads."
"Most people do, especially at the library."  Sam muttered, but he was grinning
wryly, enjoying his brother's embarrassment. 
"No, he reads.  Like, out loud."  Meg continued, beaming with faux innocence. 
"To little kids.  Our Dean-o is a do-gooder."
Blushing helplessly, Dean squirmed.  Nobody knew about his volunteer work that
he did.  He had wanted to keep it that way.
"You're the Sunday reader?"  Jody asked, pleasantly surprised.  "Jack's friend
Beth goes to that-- her mom just gushes about you.  Bela Talbot?  You've met
her, right?"
Dean only reddened further.  Oh, he knew Mrs. Talbot.  "Yeah, I know her."
For a moment, Castiel thought Meg was kidding, eyeing her off until he noticed
Dean blushing out of the corner of his eye.  "No way."  He mumbled, peering at
him, the grin on his face getting broader as the story unfolded.  Gabriel
nearly snorted up his beer, far too amused by the mental images of Dean reading
to little kiddies.  "Well if that isn't the cutest thing I've heard all day."
"Aren't you reading this Sunday, Dean?"  Meg asked, tilting her head curiously.
"He is," Jody replied for him.  "Every other Sunday, right?  I've heard there
are supposed to be puppets this time."
Dean had never wanted the Earth to open up and swallow him whole so much in his
life, and he let out a long sigh.  "... sock puppets.  Garth is helping me."
It took Castiel a moment to process exactly what that would look like, abruptly
dissolving into laughter when he did.  Eventually, he calmed down enough for
slightly giggly speech, grinning broadly at him.  "This I have to see."
"Please, don't."  Dean looked over at him imploringly before directing a glare
Meg's way.  "What exactly is the point?"
"You like kids."  Meg said dryly, as if he didn't know himself.  "You like
working with kids.  What about being a teacher?"
Dean instantly tensed, hand clutching tightly at Castiel's.  Everyone at the
table fell quiet, Bobby frowning to himself, and Jody cleared her throat
awkwardly.  Even Sam seemed to sink down in his chair a bit.  Gabriel glanced
around curiously, and Meg looked vaguely confused.
Sensing that this conversation had reached it's end, Castiel gave his elder
brother a pointed look; the same one he gave when a mark became a little too
handsy.  Gabriel nodded subtly, turning to Bobby with an open smile on his
face.  "So, I hear you work in mechanics."
"Own my own garage and junkyard," Bobby jumped at the chance to change the
topic, and Dean stared down blankly at his plate for a long moment as pleasant
conversation took off between the rest of them.
Blinking past his daze, Dean pushed back from the table, clearing his throat
and excusing himself quietly as he left the room.  Castiel watched as Dean got
up, hesitating for a moment before following him, excusing himself with a quiet
mutter as he took off after him. 
Dean was in the bathroom when he found him, cupping cold water and splashing it
over his face.  He was shaking slightly, shivering while he stood there.  His
breath was hitching, catching slightly in throat, and he rubbed a trembling
hand over his face. 
A furrow marred Cas' lips almost instantly upon seeing him, walking up to him
and placing a hand between his shoulder blades.  "You okay?"
He jumped slightly, startling, and he let out a long breath as he caught Cas'
gaze in the mirror.  Dean went to tell him that he was fine, that there wasn't
anything wrong, but he ended up shaking his head instead, hand running over his
mouth.  "No.  Will you shut the door?"
Without a word, Cas shut the door for him, returning to stand at his side a
second later.  "What's wrong?"  He asked, tone gentle as he rubbed over the
back of his neck.
"Um, I..."  Dean tried, turning to face him, leaning back against the sink,
voice softening.  "...my mom was a teacher.  Before she died." 
All the air went out of him, a pained little smile on his face as he shuffled
closer.  "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," he breathed, glancing up at him, returning the smile
with a sad one of his own.  "I just... She loved it.  She loved teaching.  I
never thought about it as an option for me.  I don't think I could do it
justice."
"Of course you could."  Cas told him, rubbing a thumb along the line of his
jaw.  "Do you like it?  Teaching people?"
"It's not horrible."  He laughed faintly, leaning into the touch, eyes
fluttering shut.  "I like the kids.  I like working with them.  I like how much
they love learning."
"Then do it.  If you want to that is."  He said.
"I don't know what I want to do," He said, meeting his gaze again, hand coming
up to rest over the one at his cheek.  "I've never thought about.  Never let
myself.  But I don't- I don't think I could do that job.  I don't think I could
do what she did."
"Then don't."  Cas said evenly.  "You don't have to decide now."
"I don't?"
"Of course not."
"Okay," he nodded, and it was as if a weight had been lifted off of his
shoulders, relief flooding through him.  "Okay.  I'll decide when I'm ready
then."
Castiel smiled at him, looping an arm around his neck.  "But, when you do
decide, tell me?"
"I will," he promised gaze affectionate as he looked at him.  "Thank you."
He leant in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.  "Come on, we're missing
dinner."
Dean chased after his mouth, wanting another kiss from him.  He slanted his
mouth over Castiel’s, hand fisting in his shirt and tugging him just that bit
closer.
Apparently dinner could wait.  Letting out a soft sigh, Castiel curled an arm
around his waist, fitting them together snugly as they kissed.  Dean arched
into him, other hand threading into Castiel's hair. 
It was a slow and easy, languid as their mouths worked together.  Dean found
himself pressed back against the counter, pinned in by the familiar weight of
Cas' body, and also found that he didn't mind it one bit. 
Pulling back, faintly breathless, Cas nudged softly at Dean's nose, resting a
hand against the bathroom counter.  He leant back in again, lips brushing
slowly, just far enough to speak.  "Y'know, people are gonna talk when we both
walk out of here."
"Meg might," Dean conceded, breathing the same breath as him, kissing him and
keeping their mouths brushing as they spoke, unwilling to disconnect from him
even for a moment.  "The others will just think you're comforting me.  Which,
in a way, you are."
"Comforting.  That's what they call it these days."  Cas chuckled, kissing him
again, long and easy, like they had all day.
Humming against his mouth, Dean parted his lips in invitation, tongue swiping
out in tease.  They kissed like that for a long time, all lips and teeth and
tongue.  Dean all but melted against him, fingers carding idly through Cas'
hair, and the hand that had been clutching at his shirt drifted down to his
hip.  Pulling Cas more fully against him, their legs tangled together, thighs
between thighs and he rocked forward subtly.  Castiel was quite sure that this
did not qualify as comfort, though he saw no reason to stop.  The rock of
Dean's hips drew blatant attention to the rush of heat between his legs,
shifting a little in attempt to take some of the pressure off as they kissed. 
Dean whined as Cas tried to move away and pulled him back closer.  Taking the
hint that Dean found nothing wrong with the situation, he pressed back in
again, slipping a hand up the back of his shirt.  Dean's spine curved as warm
fingers trailed up his back, and he shivered against Cas.  Letting out a soft
sound, Dean pulled back until their lips were just barely brushing, panting
breathlessly against his mouth for a moment before he canted his head and
licked his way back in.  His hips gave another slow roll, small but there, and
he mewled into the kiss.
Cas let out a soft groan, fumbling as he gripped at the counter to avoid
falling over, his knees going weak.  He had since decided that the little mewl
Dean gave was his favorite, giving a slow roll of his body in effort to gain
another.  Pawing at him, Dean arched further, hands groping blindly over Cas'
frustratingly clothed body.  His hips stuttered in reply, and Dean let out
another keen, only to have it swallowed up between them.  Pressure provided the
most tantalizing friction, and Dean felt heat begin to coil low in his gut. 
Pulling back, Cas slipped his hand further up Dean's shirt, letting out a faint
grunt of frustration when it wouldn't go any further.  "Are we really doing
this?"  He asked, mouthing over his jaw line slowly.
"We--" Dean moaned, letting his head fall back as Castiel's lips moved over his
skin.  "We probably shouldn't."  His words said one thing, but his body
another.  Dean's grip on him did not let up, and his hips rocked again, more
insistently as his abdomen flexed, revealed from beneath the rising hem of his
shirt. 
"No, we shouldn't."  Cas mumbled against his neck, moving his hands around to
drag up his chest.
"We should stop," Dean muttered half-heartedly, rutting against him, hips
meeting hips, and a whine escaped him.  "We should--" he gasped as teeth
scraped over his pulse point.  "definitely stop."
"Would you like to?"  Cas asked, voice muffled as he continued his way down
Dean's neck, as far as he could considering his shirt.
"No," he admitted, blunt nails dragging over his shirts material that stretched
over his back, and he let out a small sound of frustration.  "But we should. 
We can't-- there are people--"  Dean's hips jerked slightly as Cas' mouth
kissed a sensitive part right above his collar.  "Later.  Stay the night. 
Later."
Reluctantly, Cas pulled away, reddened lips curling into a smile.  "I'll hold
you to that."  He promised, pressing one last quick kiss to Dean's lips before
he pulled back, straightening out his shirt at best he could.
"Yeah, well, you were just holding me against the bathroom sink, and you're not
doing that anymore."  Dean remarked dryly, tugging his shirt back down and
shifting uncomfortably in his pants. 
"Hilarious." Cas drawled, ruffling a hand through his hair in effort to get it
to sit flatter.
Grinning, Dean shuffled forward, tamping down the heat that had been burning
through him and replacing it with a buzzing anticipation.  "I know I am."  Dean
nudged at his shoe playfully, reaching out to smooth his collar down, invading
his space again, lowering his voice as he stared at him earnestly.  "But
seriously, Cas.  Stay the night?"
Castiel smiled at him, tilting his head as Dean fixed his collar.  "I'll stay. 
Good luck convincing Gabe though."
Dean made a face, shaking his head, a teasing glint in his eyes.  "Gabriel can
go home.  I just want you."
Castiel all but beamed at him, grabbing one of his hands and pressing a soft
kiss to the top of it.  "Come on.  Before they miss us."
They walked back out into the dining room together, settling back down at the
table.  Everyone was laughing and talking, getting along well; it warmed Dean
to see it.  It was like actually having a family.  He dug back into his meal,
and they both fell back into the conversation without a hitch.  Though Meg did
shoot him a knowing look, her fingers brushing meaningfully over her collar,
and Dean was quick to adjust his shirt over the mark that Cas had left.  More
food than usual was tucked away, and Dean felt more full than he had in a very
long time. 
After everyone had had their fill, Bobby and Jody excused themselves, saying
that they needed to get Jack home before he decided to fall asleep on Dean's
couch like he had the year before.  Meg was the next to go, kissing Dean on the
cheek and tucking a presumptuous condom into his pocket before she was on her
way to sneak into Charlie's place.  Dean was in the middle of putting the last
of the food away when Sam declared that he was tired and going to bed, leaving
Cas and Gabriel with him in the kitchen.
"Gabe?"  Dean called over his shoulder, peering over at the man as he lounged
with his feet propped up on the table.  "You want some pie to take home with
you?"
From his place on the couch, Gabriel tipped his head back to peer at Dean, near
identical to his brother with the intensity of his gaze.  "I'm leaving?"  He
said, a little surprised.
"Unless you're staying," Dean replied, sealing a Tupperware container before
turning to look at him.  "The couch pulls out."
From within the kitchen, Castiel glared pointedly at his elder brother, making
distinct shooing motions,  wanting him gone.  Gabriel tilted his head slightly,
manic grin curling his lips.
"Yeah.  I think I'll stay, thanks, Dean-o."  He said, and Cas groaned softly
from in the kitchen, glaring vehemently at him.
Tucking the last of the food away into the fridge, Dean smiled to himself, and
shut the door before grabbing Castiel by the wrist and bringing him into the
living room with him.  "The bedding is already in there.  You can pull it out
while I grab you some spare pillows."
The glare on Cas' face didn't waver, pinning his brother with an annoyed look. 
He had wanted some privacy, but apparently, Gabriel had other ideas.  His elder
brother rose and pulled the couch out with as little fuss as possible.
Tugging Castiel up the stairs, Dean brought him into his room and guided him
over to the bed, placing his hands on his shoulders and sitting him down on the
edge of it. 
"Be right back."  He murmured, leaning in to press a fleeting kiss to his lips,
and then he was leaving. 
A couple of minutes passed before Dean was in the room again, closing the door
behind him with a soft click, pressing his back to it as he offered up a small
smile to Castiel.  There was a knot of nervousness that had settled low in his
stomach, nerves buzzing with anticipation. 
Swallowing thickly, Dean shifted uneasily, not sure how to begin.  It was
different when they were in the heat of it, kissing devolving into something
far more heated and incredibly tempting.  This was awkward and tense, and it
had Dean blushing prematurely.
"Hi."  Dean breathed, voice shaking slightly. 
Cas glanced up with wide eyes, watching as he offered up that small smile to
him.  It wasn't as though Cas was new to this, but there was something
confronting about the knowledge of what, if all went well, was to come.
"Hey."  He mumbled, standing up and moving over to him, taking one of Dean's
hands for comfort. 
Tangling their fingers together, Dean tugged gently, until Castiel was
shuffling just that bit closer.  It left very little space between them, and he
could feel the heat radiating off of Cas.  His tongue darted out, swiping over
his lips, and Dean leaned in just a bit, Cas' nose bumping against his.
"Should we just...  start kissing then?"
Cas gave him a soft smile, finding his little questions endearing.  "You can't
force it."  He said, letting a hand run down the side of his face.  "Just, let
it happen."
Leaning in to the touch, Dean let his eyes drift shut for a moment, Cas' free
hand coming up to rest at Dean's hip, thumb rubbing just above the waistline of
his slacks.  Gaze meeting Castiel's again, he took a slow, deep breath and let
their lips just barely brush.  His voice fell hushed and inviting, body easing
against him.  "Just let it happen."
Feeling him relax, Castiel closed the distance between them, kissing him
slowly, not wanting to rush him into anything.  Humming against his lips, Dean
tilted his head and kissed him back languidly.  Hand untangling from Castiel's,
it came up to run over the soft material at his collar, rounding to the back of
his neck so that he could let his fingers sink into the short hair at the base
of his head. 
After a long moment of simple, easy presses of their mouths, Dean kissed him
more firmly, lips parting lips as he swiped his tongue out over Castiel's,
sucking in a soft breath.  Each little sweep of Dean's tongue drew a soft
shiver from Cas, letting his hands curl into the material of Dean's shirt,
tugging softly.  After a while, Cas pulled back, breathless as he smiled at
him, toying with the hem if Dean's shirt.
Heart stammering slightly, Dean kissed him again, chaste but sweet and then
shifted back and raised his arms in invitation.  "Go ahead."
A warm smile curled his lips, lifting Dean’s shirt up over his head, and
leaving it discarded on the floor.  Cas took a moment to admire him, letting
his fingers wander over Dean's stomach, tracing out lean muscle. 
Dean's breath caught as Castiel's hand drifted down over his skin.  The last
time he'd been this bare before him was in the locker room, during their first
kiss, and the thought made him shiver.  The way they'd pawed at one another,
unfamiliar and new.  And he felt a rush of heat go through him when he thought
of how much better they knew each other now, and how easy Castiel's hands felt
on his skin.  How right.
His hands reached out for Cas, pulling him back close by his shirt, and he
began working the buttons open one at a time.  Resting back against the door,
taking in each inch of revealed skin, Dean's fingers faltered when the shirt
fell open enough for him to catch sight of his piercings.  Eyes flashing, his
gaze flickered up to Castiel's for a moment, hands itching to touch.
"Which one's numb again?"  Dean asked, hands skirting up his sides and to his
shoulders, pushing the material down as he admired the muscles he hid beneath
it.
Cas was so preoccupied with tracing out the ladder of Dean's ribs, he nearly
didn't notice his shirt being undone, it wasn't until cool air hit his skin
that he realized, a shiver running through him.  His breath hitched as hands
moved over him, shrugging his shoulders to let his shirt fall back, no longer
fussed about all the time he'd taken ironing it.  Identical silver rings hung
from his nipples, one a little discolored from previous infection. 
"Right."
"So the left one..." Dean muttered absently, thumb brushing over his nipple and
caught lightly on the small ring attached to it, wondering what kind of
reaction he might gain.  "Is the sensitive one?"
Spitting out a soft curse, Cas arched ever so slightly into his touch.  He'd
forgotten how good that felt, the little thrill of heat that shivered through
him.  Dean’s gaze hovered as he practically ate up sight of him, and his eyes
flashed as he pulled gently at it again, lips parted in a keen kind of awe. 
Castiel’s eyes fluttered shut, groaning softly as Dean tugged just hard enough.
Darting forward, Dean caught Castiel's lips with his own, the look on his face
too much for him to handle.  Drawing him close, moaning as skin met skin, Dean
kissed him thoroughly, hungrily.  Cas let out a little huff of shock, not
expecting the intensity of it.  His hands clung to whatever skin he could
reach, tugging and skating over as he learned the pattern of Dean's body.
Whining faintly, embarrassingly needy, against Cas' mouth, Dean arched into
him.  His hands skirted around to his back, dragging down over the muscles that
were there, until he reached the curve of Cas' ass.  Cupping it, he gave a firm
squeeze, and then jerked Castiel's hips forward against his.  A moan was eaten
up greedily between them, and Dean craved more friction like a starved man,
practically begging with his lips and his tongue, sucking tauntingly at
Castiel's. 
Cas let out a low groan, lost between them as he was pulled forward, the
muscles of his back flexed under his hands, making the tattoo on his back seem
to shift.  He pulled back, panting, and glassy eyed, tugging at the belt loops
of Dean’s pants as he walked them back, deciding a door wasn't exactly the most
comfortable of venues.
Dean followed blindly, far too preoccupied with mouthing over Castiel's neck,
sucking a mark into the skin just below his ear.  They stumbled a bit on their
way to the bed, but made it there as safe as can be, stopping as the backs of
Castiel's legs hit the edge of the mattress.  Finally coming up for air, Dean
met his gaze, breathless as he rocked their hips together.
How they managed not to fall over, Cas would never know, far too concerned with
the feel of warm skin underneath his hands.  He groaned softly as their hips
met, dropping a hand to cup and the swell of Dean's ass.  Panting softly, Cas
pulled away, just far enough to climb onto Dean's bed, a playful little smile
on his face as he beckoned him closer. 
Dean's mouth went dry.  Castiel was in his bed, waiting for him expectantly. 
Castiel wanted him.  This is actually happening. 
Moving, Dean climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs, and it was only when
he settled there that he realized he was shaking.
"You okay?"  Cas asked, hands traveling up the length of his back, fingers
tracing over his spine.
Dean nodded, shivering under his touch, relaxing in his hold.  He braced his
hands at Castiel's shoulders, leaning in to press a ginger kiss to his lips. 
"I'm fine.  It's just nerves."
Castiel offered him a soft smile, hands running down his back and around to
press at the flat planes of his chest.  “Tell me if you get uncomfortable?"
"I will," he said honestly, fingers tightening at his shoulders as Castiel's
hands came up over his skin.  "Kiss me again?"
Cas leaned in that little bit further, sealing their lips together in a slow
kiss, not wanting to push him too far.  Draping his arms around his neck, Dean
tangled a hand into his hair and tugged lightly until Castiel's head was angled
back enough for Dean to deepen it.  Cas let out a soft growl as his hair was
pulled, moving obediently as Dean's hand guided him back.  Shuffling just a
touch closer, Dean stopped as their chests pressed together, shuddering
pleasantly as he felt the brush of metal along his skin.
Licking his way past Cas' lips, he flicked his tongue over the roof of Cas'
mouth, wanting to coax some kind of reaction out of him.  The previously hungry
grab of Castiel’s hands softened to something far more complacent, all but
melting against him as Dean took over.
It wasn't long before the kiss turned messy.  It was a languid mesh of their
mouths-- tongues stroking, teeth nipping, and lips pressing until Dean needed
to breathe again.  Breaking away, his forehead resting against Castiel's, a
string of saliva snapping when their mouths moved too far apart.  Panting, he
stroked through Cas' hair, wanting nothing more than to rut against him until
they were both lost in each other, but finding the slow pace aggravatingly
perfect.
The fingers running through his hair stalled Cas’ urge to push him back and
just take already, knowing he would have to be patient.  He rocked his hips
slowly, biting back a mewl at the friction it provided.  Nudging gently at Cas'
nose, Dean rolled his hips in reply, body moving sinuously above him.  A sound
that was a cross between a moan and a whine caught with a gasp as Dean ground
against him more firmly, keeping his forehead resting against Castiel's as they
started up an even rhythm, rocking together.
Heat pooled low in Castiel’s gut, shifting against him as their hips rocked
like a steady pulse, kissing Dean briefly, messily as they moved.  "Pants
probably aren't the best thing to do this in."
"Yeah," Dean breathed, nodding absently, too busy rutting down against him,
mind lost in the sparks of pleasure that ran along his nerves.  "Probably.  We
should probably fix that, then."
"We should," Cas agreed, glad he had Dean's say so as he undid the clasp of
Dean’s pants, heart racing as he tugged insistently.  Part of him expected to
wake up about now, sweat covered and in need of a very cold shower.
Breath catching, Dean stilled, and shifted back until he was standing before
him, hands back on his shoulders.  Dean swallowed thickly, giving him silent
permission to tug his khakis down.  His abdomen flexed, chest rising and
falling shallowly, nerves buzzing as he waited. 
Moving to sit in front of him, Cas looked up at him with a mischievous grin on
his face, tugging his pants down, half tempted to lean in and teach him what a
blow job felt like.  He pressed a kiss to the jut of his hip, nipping softly,
eyes rolling up to catch his reaction.
Dean quivered.  Staring down at him, his jaw fell faintly slack, heart falling
over itself in his chest, and he was incredibly grateful for his boxer-briefs
despite the way his cock was straining against the material, a small wet spot
forming where the head of it was.  Shivering, he stroked through Castiel’s
hair, catching his lower lip between his teeth to bite back the needy sound he
wanted to make. 
"What are we doing?"  Dean asked, voice cracking slightly, unable to help
himself.  "How far-- What are we going to do?"
"Anything you'd like."  Castiel replied, sucking a mark into his skin just
above the line of his underwear, cupping a hand over the bulge between his legs
and squeezing ever so slightly.
He moaned, hips jerking forward, pressing into his palm as he squeezed his eyes
shut and clung to Cas for a moment.  "I- I don't know.  I don't even know where
to start."
Cas pulled back, offering a soft smile as he reached up and took one of Dean's
hands, ignoring the scream of his own body for a moment.  "Would you like me to
show you?"  He asked, confident he could get him off.
"Yes," he breathed, tangling their fingers together, and squeezing.  "I trust
you.  Please?"
Tugging at his hand, Castiel pulled him back down, something in him warming as
the knowledge that he was trusted.  "Lay back for me."
Nodding, Dean moved as instructed, laying down on top of the comforter, head
cushioned by his pillows.  He stared up at Cas, eyes bright even in the dim
light of his bedroom, and Dean brought Castiel's hand to his lips, brushing a
fleeting kiss there as he waited.
Moving to crawl over him, Cas smiled at the gesture, nudging softly at his
nose.  "If you'd like me to stop, just say."  He murmured, dropping his head to
mouth over his neck.
Tilting his head back, Dean let out a breathy sound, keeping hold of Castiel's
hand as the other bunched in the fabric of his bedding.  "Don't want you to
stop.  Just want you."
Cas gave a soft groan of approval, squeezing at Dean's hand as he let his lips
wander down over his sternum, fingers running over warm skin.  Each kiss, and
nip, and lick he gave was experimental, learning what made Dean whine, and what
did nothing for him.
The mewl Dean gave tapered off as he bit his lower lip, muffling the sound as
he squirmed faintly beneath him, arching into the drag of Castiel's hand as it
moved down over his abdomen.  His gaze fluttered, and he swallowed down another
sound as hot breath ghosted over one of his nipples, hand tightening
reflexively in Castiel's as his cock gave an interested twitch. 
Castiel raised his head upon noting Dean's reaction, a giddy little grin on his
face as he covered a pert nipple with his lips, licking and sucking at it.  A
delightfully startled sound escaped Dean, back curving off of the bed slightly
as a hot mouth lapped at his nipple, and an involuntary moan slipped over his
lips.  The hand clutching at the material of comforter went to the back of Cas'
head, fingers tangling into dark hair in order to ground himself.
Cas let out a throaty groan as a hand went to his hair, probably too loud
considering there were other people in the house.  Spurred on by the tug at his
scalp, he sucked at Dean's nipple for a moment longer, pulling back to repeat
to process on its twin. 
Arching, Dean shuddered, breath hitching helplessly as his hips gave a tiny
buck, and his fingers tightened almost painfully in his hair.  "Cas."
He raised his head again, smirking up at him despite the nervous pound of his
heart, and the thrill that came with having his hair pulled like that.  "Yes,
Dean?"
"Don't-- Why--"  He looked down, meeting his gaze, in a dazed kind of panic. 
"Don't stop."
Cas pressed a soft kiss to the center of his chest, expression softening as he
let a slow hand run up the inside of his thigh, gentle almost as he gauged
Dean's reaction.  Pupils blowing wide, eyes dark, Dean held his gaze and let
his legs fall open just slightly in response as he pulled gingerly, coaxingly
at Cas' hair, wanting to kiss him again.  Cas let his hand settle just over the
bulge of his cock, squeezing softly as he raised his head, complying with
Dean's unspoken wishes and slanting their mouths together.
Dean was grateful for it because they muffled the heady moan he let out, body
rolling beneath him as Castiel's cupped him through his underwear.  Untangling
the hand that was laced with Cas', Dean let it drift down between them,
fumbling with the buckle of Castiel’s pants, wanting nothing more than to
return the favor.  Lifting his hips in order to give Dean an actual chance of
getting his pants off, Cas tilted his head, licking at his lips, greedy as they
kissed.
Managing to unfasten Cas' slacks, Dean freed his hand from Castiel's hair, and
tugged the material down to mid-thigh.  Fingers wandering-- to Cas' chest,
along his ribs, down over his stomach and to his hips-- Dean sucked at the
tongue in his mouth, letting a finger catch on the waistband of Cas' briefs as
he pulled and then let it snap back playfully against his hip. 
Cas let out a surprised sound against his lips, wiggling in order to shuck his
pants off, kicking them away.  Pulling back, he panted softly, eyes gone dark
as he stared down at him, hand shaking ever so slightly as he squeezed at
Dean's cock, rubbing the palm of his hand over the ever growing wet spot at its
head. The expression that fell over Dean’s face could only be considered
enraptured. 
Mouth parted and kiss-swollen, eyes glazed and wanting, and Dean stared up at
him with desire.  With affection.  With awe.  It was like everything stood
still for a moment, and he gazed up at him breathlessly, hand coming up to cup
Cas' jaw.  Thumb brushing over his cheek, Dean let his other hand move over
Castiel's crotch, palming the length of him through his underwear with a bit of
tentativeness.
Cas let his head fall slack against Dean's hand, squeezing his eyes shut as he
let out a soft groan, finally getting a little attention.  Opening his eyes,
Castiel slipped a hand down the front of Dean’s underwear, taking hold of his
length loosely and working it out of its confines.
After the initial shock, the pleasure making him arch and thrust up into Cas'
hand, Dean pressed more firmly against Castiel's cock.  Keening very softly, he
mimicked Cas' motions, delving beneath the waistband of his briefs to grasp Cas
with a surprising amount of finesse.  Giving a slow stroke, Dean watched him
avidly, shaking nervously and with excitement. 
Biting back a moan, Cas let his body undulate, slow and controlled motions that
made the squeeze of Dean’s hand all the better.  Breathless, Cas nodded his
approval, dipping his head to nip just under Dean's ear, stroking over Dean's
cock with sure movements.
Head falling to the side to offer up more room, Dean arched and rolled, muscles
flexing as pleasure had him moaning beneath the weight of Castiel's body. 
Gripping him a bit tighter, Dean pumped with more sure movements, arm coming up
to drape over Cas' shoulders-- to keep him close, to let his nails drag bluntly
over inked shoulder blades.  It was an idle, easy pace as they worked each
others cocks, keeping rhythm with one another. 
Letting out a stifled groan, Castiel sucked at Dean's neck, shoulders arching
back as nails scraped down them.  "Like that.  Ke-keep going."  He murmured,
urging him on.
Panting, Dean nodded, encouraged by his words, his sounds, his body moving
above him.  Increasing the pace, Dean thumbed over the head of Cas' cock, like
he did to himself frequently, and gave a quick twist of his wrist in order to
draw more reactions from him.
All the air went out of him, grinding down against Dean’s hand as heat curled
in his gut.  Cas raised his head to admire the red mark he'd left, looking down
at Dean, watching his reactions as he twisted his wrist too, stroking faster
over him.
Dean's chest rose and fell unevenly, and he strained prettily as he rocked up
into Cas' hand, moaning wantonly.  Heat was coiling in Dean, tightening and
tightening below his navel as ecstasy broiled through him.  Meeting Cas' gaze
blearily, Dean panted, fingers dragging apologetically over the marks he'd left
with his nails.  Cas let out a long groan, snapping his hips forward a last few
times before he came, spilling into Dean's hand with a low growl of a moan. 
Panting softly, he rubbed his thumb over the head of Dean's cock, trying to get
him to come.
It was like a struggle.  A strange feeling-- gratitude and hunger.  It almost
felt like punishment.  Dean kept thinking about the word thrum, his nerves
buzzing as Cas brought him closer and closer.  There was a flame that tried to
catch; he could hear it, he could feel it.  It was like there was something he
was after, something he was trying to achieve, and there was a sense of danger
that he might miss it, might not find it, might not get ahold of it.  There was
a terrible moment when he was afraid that he wouldn’t reach it, that he would
lose it, that it wouldn’t work, that hewouldn’t work and he writhed with this
sense, so very, very desperate. 
And at the same time, he wanted to stay there.  Wanted to draw out that feeling
of desperation, stay in that perfect place between because it was so good. 
Because he was almost there, he was almost there, he could feel it burning, and
then suddenly he arrived.
Dean went stiff, jerking and spasming slightly, and his breath came shorter
until there was a half-strangled cry falling over his lips.  Until he was
spilling out over Cas' hand, hips stuttering, and euphoria washed through him. 
Sticky and wet and hot, he panted, trying to catch his breath as he stared up
at Cas in a state of raw bliss, a slow smile curling over his mouth.
Cas watched as he came with an enraptured expression, pulling his hand back, a
little lost as to what to do with the mess they'd made.  Panting softly, he
nudged at Dean's nose, affectionate as he went lax against him, a satisfied
little grin on his face as he fell face first into the mattress next to him.
Staring up at the ceiling, still kind of breathless, Dean huffed out a little
laugh.  "That totally just happened."
From his place buried in the bedding, Castiel let out a soft grunt, raising his
head to regard him blearily.  "It did."  He said, voice oddly smooth as he
spoke, all languid and sated.
Looking over at him, beaming despite the filth on his hand, his stomach, and
his cock, Dean shifted closer until they were pressed along each others sides. 
"We totally just did that."
Cas flopped an arm around him, a little sweaty, as they pressed together.  "Was
fun."  He mumbled, turning his head to look at him, hair all messed up. 
"Should do it again sometime."
"Mhmm.  Like soon sometime."  Dean hummed his agreement, curling up with him,
and shivering with the cold.  "We should get under the covers."
"We should clean up."  Cas countered, rolling over onto his side lethargically.
Dean made a face, limbs lax, but he slowly got to his feet and made his way
over to his bathroom with a fatigued grumble.  Tugging his underwear up on the
walk over, he kneeled in front of the cabinet under the sink and fished out a
hand towel.  Standing back up, he cranked the hot water on, holding his hand
there as he waited for it to warm up.  His gaze strayed to the mirror, and he
sucked in a small gasp at the sight of himself-- disheveled and thorough
debauched.  A smile twitched over his lips, and there was a deep thrum of
satisfaction that rolled through him as he turned his attention back to the
water.
Once the towel was warm and soaked, he rang it out just enough and headed back
into the bedroom to find Castiel waiting.  Climbing back onto the bed, he
softly urged Cas to roll over, and straddled his thighs as he swiped the warm
cloth over Cas' skin, cleaning the mess that they'd made together.  He let his
eyes roam avidly, gaze near adoring.
"You're beautiful."
"Flattery will get you everywhere."  Cas purred, far too content to even bother
blushing.
Arching very faintly as Dean cleaned the mess off him, Cas rolled his head,
neck tilting partially to show off the few marks Dean had left, staining tanned
skin.  A line of tiny black runes that were printed down his sternum shifted as
he stretched and shuddered, warm water evaporating to leave his skin cool.
"Let me clean you?"  Cas asked, snagging the end of the cloth.
"Clean away," he grinned, eyes attracted to the foreign words on his skin,
fingers trailing over them curiously.  "What does this mean?"
Castiel shifted from under him, pushing him off in order to clean between his
thighs, and over his stomach.  "It's my family name.  We all have one."
Legs splayed for him, laying on his back, Dean he looked up at him with a
tilted head.  "Is each one unique?"
"No.  They each say the same thing, but we all elected for different places. 
Michael has his on his collarbone, and Luc's is between his shoulder blades. 
Balthazar's is on his hip."  He said, washing away the sweat, and come from
Dean's body with careful strokes.
"Gabriel's?"  He asked, shivering under the caring touches he took to clean him
off.
"Down his spine."  Cas said, balling up the cloth as he finished, leaning down
to press a warm kiss to the tip of Dean's nose.
Laughing faintly, his nose wrinkled in an endearing manner.  "So are those the
only tattoos you have?  The proverbial family crest and your wings?"
Castiel nodded, moving to nestle in close to him, nose buried in his neck. 
"For now, yeah."
Humming, Dean languidly draped his arms over him-- one at his shoulders and the
other his waist-- wiggling so that he could managed their way beneath the
covers.  Tugging sheets up over them, Dean buried close and let out a contented
sound.  Their legs tangled, and they grappled with one another, bodies pressed
so closely he almost couldn't tell where he ended and Cas began.
"What else are you thinking of getting?"
He dropped the wash cloth on the floor, far more interested in the warmth of
Dean's body.  Lifting his head, Cas blinked up at him, considering his question
for a moment.  "I'm not sure yet.  Maybe I'll stop with these."
"I dunno," Dean hid his face against the crook of his neck.  "I like them. 
Your piercings too."
"You just like making me squirm."  Cas chuckled, stroking through his hair
gently.
"Yes," he laughed, leaning into the touch.  "Yes, I do.  But the feeling is
mutual."
"That's true."  Cas admitted, pressing into him, feeling warmed metal press up
against his skin. 
Dean was content to just lay there with him, fingers trailing idly over his
skin.  Along his neck, over his shoulder, across his collarbone.  Memorizing
the feel of him.
"Did you have a good Thanksgiving?"  Dean asked, almost tentative.  "I know you
don't usually celebrate, but was it good?" 
"Best I've ever had."  He replied honestly, recalling the generally warm
atmosphere of the day.
Pulling back, Dean beamed at him, eyes shining with his joy, crinkling at the
corners.  "I'm glad."
Cas couldn't help the warm little smile on his face when Dean looked at him
like that, brushing the tip of a careful finger over the lines at his eyes. 
"Thank you for inviting me."
Turning his head, he pressed his face into his hand, kissing his palm
affectionately.  "You're welcome here anytime."
"I'm going to remind you of that next time I break in."  Cas chuckled, shifting
his legs to press them closer, limbs tangled in a manner that was far more
comfortable than it looked.
"You know, I'd give you a key, but I think you'd resort to breaking in
anyways."
"Practice makes perfect."  Cas smiled.  "Though you could have chosen a
downstairs bedroom.  Climbing walls is hard, even if you do have that plant
lattice."
Dean gave him a jokingly scolding look.  "You better not hurt my roses."
"They're more likely to hurt me."  Cas retorted.
"Pretty things often have thorns," he replied, nipping pointedly at his jaw.
"That explains you."
"Does it?  I hadn't noticed."
Cas smiled at him, nudging his nose playfully.  "At least it means you're my
pretty thing."
"Your pretty thing?"  He asked, sounding affronted, but there was a smile on
his face.  "We're back on that, are we?"
"My pretty thing."  Cas agreed, tracing over the line of his jaw, brushing the
tips of his fingers over his lips.
Eyes fluttering, Dean's lips parted under Cas' touch, breath catching.  "Your
pretty thing."
Castiel gave him a warm smile, tucking his face into the crook of Dean's neck
and letting out a long sigh.  There was something immensely satisfying about
holding Dean like this, unrestricted and warm, and safer than he'd felt in
years.
Nuzzling into his hair, Dean let his eyes slip shut, wrapped up and secure with
him.  He let out a long, content breath, and wiggled a bit closer as he eased
against him.  It wasn't long before sleep was tempting him, dragging him down
under slowly, coaxingly.  Breath evening out, he kissed the top of his head,
fingers trailing up and down his spine.
"Night, Cas."
"Good night, Dean."  He said, stroking idly down his side. 
When he was sure Dean was asleep, Cas raised his head, pressing a soft kiss to
his forehead. 
"I love you."  He whispered, barely audible, as though testing the feeling of
the words in his mouth and liking the taste of them there.
 
 
***** In the Morning *****
The first thing Castiel noticed when he woke was the soft warmth that pervaded
his body, all languid and lazy as he moved.  The second was an upsetting lack
of Dean next to him.  Rolling over with a soft huff, he noticed that the bed
was still warm from Dean's body, stretching out his spine with a cat like curve
as he sat up, hearing the soft flow of water and smiling.  Slipping from
between the sheets, he yawned softly, running a hand through his hair as he
walked into the bathroom to find Dean.
There was the sound of singing, some upbeat little tune that flowed from over
the top of the shower door with the steam.  "--she acts like the summer and
walks like rain, reminds me that there's time to change, hey ey ey."  There was
a bit up mumbling, like Dean had forgotten the lyrics, and then he was belting
it out again, slightly off key but endlessly endearing.  "Tell me!  Did you
fall for a shooting star?  One without a permanent scar?  And did you miss me
while you were looking for yourself out there?"
At first, Castiel tilted his head, listening to him carefully.  Not exactly the
best singer, but it was cute.  Looking around the bathroom, he jumped up onto
the sink, sitting idly as Dean sang.  "Do you normally sing for your guests, or
am I special?"
There was the sound of slipping, and then a sharp exhale as Dean seemed to
catch himself.  "Jesus, Cas."  He poked his head out around around the edge of
the glass door, too fogged up to reveal any skin, suds dripping down his
temple.  "Wear a bell."
Castiel laughed as a wet head poked around the door, grinning playfully at
him.  "But I'm not a cat."
"You sure about that?"  He asked, a chuckle catching on his words.  "You seem
pretty feline to me."
"Last I checked, I was human, and you can attest to that."  Cas said, teasing,
as he smiled at him, trying-- quite obviously-- to see past the shower screen.
Noting his gaze, Dean grinned, taking a step back but leaving the door open. 
"You can join me, if you like."
A slow smirk curled over Cas' lips, letting out a little hum of content as  he
stripped out of his --slightly stained-- underwear and slipped into the shower
with him.  He took a brief moment to admire the flow of water over Dean's body,
shivering despite the heat of the steam.  "Good morning."
Smiling coyly, Dean let his eyes drift down over him, really taking him in for
the first time in full light, unabashed in his admiration.  "Morning."
Cas had no aversion to his own body, but there was something satisfying about
having Dean look at him, spine arching ever so slightly as he ducked under the
water.  "Sleep well?"  He asked, near casual despite the flex of his body under
the water.
"Very," he nodded, shuffling close, stepping under the spray of water with Cas
until they were almost touching.  "You?"
Cas hummed his agreement, closing his eyes as water washed over his face,
moving back to shake his hair out.  "Just fine."
Laughing, Dean reached out, fingers tangling into the wet mess of Cas' hair as
he pulled him back close until they were pressed-- all slick, bare skin and
heat.  "Good to hear.  How are you now?"
He let out a slow groan, moving as Dean asked with no resistance whatsoever. 
Smiling sleepily over at him, Cas gave a soft shrug.  "Cleaner."  He said,
curling an arm around his waist.
"I can fix that," he hummed, tilting his head and slanting their mouths
together for a long, lingering moment.  "Unless you'd rather not?"
"No, I think I'd rather."  Cas mumbled, voice dropping a little as heat began
to pool in his gut, far too sensitive to his teasing.
Grinning, Dean pressed him back against a shockingly cold tile wall, slipping a
knee between Castiel's legs, and he leaned in to kiss him.  Parting his lips
easily, finding them pliant and wanting, Dean slid his tongue alongside Cas'
and sucked gently, tauntingly.  They were hip to hip, chest to chest, hands
groping blindly over slick skin.  Dean found himself playing with one of Cas'
nipple piercings, enjoying the way it made his boyfriend arch against him as
their mouths continued to battle and vie for dominance.
It was then that Cas decided his piercings were simultaneously the best and
worst thing he'd ever done, biting back a whine as Dean pulled at the one he’d
been toying with idly.  After a long moment, Cas pulled back to take a breath,
gripping at one of Dean's shoulders so hard he was sure he'd leave a mark,
arching and squirming under his hands.
"I wonder," Dean muttered, voice low and rich, like chocolate covered sex as he
continued to make him writhe with a certain kind of satisfaction.  "If I could
make you come just like this?  Rutting against my thigh, my hands on your
skin.  What do you think?"
If it was anyone else, Cas would have given them a haughty look and insisted he
was better than that, but this was Dean, and he currently had two very warm,
very well placed hands and a thigh to grind against.  For now, he was content
with that. 
He let his head fall back against the tiles, hips shifting against his leg very
subtly as he nodded.  "I bet you could." 
Eyes flashing, Dean met his gaze, lifting his leg a bit more and pressed more
firmly, tugging sharply at a piercing again.  "I bet I could too."
Cas jerked a little, a flare of pain spiking through him, giving Dean a warning
glance.  "Careful."  He chided.
"Sorry," he murmured, ducking his head down, leaning in to place an apologetic
kiss over the sensitive nub.
Any annoyance in him at the mistake faded as lips pressed over his nipple. 
Letting out a soft whine, Cas clutched at Dean's shoulder, squirming faintly
under him as he rutted against his thigh.
Lapping at the piercing, Dean’s fingers trailed down Cas' sides, tracing the
ladder of his ribs as heat flooded through him.  The sound Castiel let out had
warmth rushing through his veins, and he bit his way up his chest and to his
neck, allowing Cas to rut as he pleased.  Part of Castiel registered that it
was a bit unfair to leave Dean unattended, but the majority of his brain
function was too occupied with the wet mouth moving over his skin and the warm
thigh he was rutting unabashedly against.  Heat curled low in his gut, a hand
moving restlessly over Dean's back, nails dragging down his spine.
Arching, Dean groaned against his skin, thumbing over Cas' nipples as he sucked
a spot into the skin just above his collar, wanting nothing more than to have
Castiel fall apart against him.  Wanting to hear him finish.  Wanting to repeat
what had happened the night before over and over until it was seared in his
mind.
Moaning lowly, Cas scrambled at his back, clutching for purchase as he squeezed
his eyes shut.  He didn’t have the time to be embarrassed about how wanton he
sounded, how he no doubt looked, as he felt his orgasm wash through him
swiftly, coming against Dean's thigh with a soft growl, chest heaving as he
panted.  It was a testament to how easily Dean could wind him up, how fast he’d
wrapped him around his finger, that he came so quickly.
Stilling, Dean placed soothing kisses up his neck, fingers fanning out over his
sides as he made sure Cas could stand, kissing his cheek with nothing but
fondness.  "You okay?"
Tilting his head ever so slightly, Cas let out a soft hum, a lazy looking smile
on his lips.  "Just fine."  He purred, cracking his eyes open to look at him.
"Good," Dean smiled, hand cupping the side of his face, and he leaned in to
kiss him gently.
With the languid kind of movements that were generally associated with punch-
drunkenness, Castiel returned his kiss, pulling back to smile warmly at him,
moving a hand between Dean's legs and raising an eyebrow.  "What about you?"
Breath catching, he shrugged.  "I-- I can do it myself if you don't want to."
Considering him for a moment, a cheeky little smirk curled Castiel's lips. 
"Let me go down on you?" 
Blushing a deep color, all of that assuredness gone, he swallowed past the
dryness in his mouth and nodded.  "Uh, yeah.  Yeah, okay."
Turning off the shower for the sake of the rest of the house’s water supply,
Cas took one of his hands, squeezing gently, and tugging him out of the shower.
 A spark of nerves bristled through him, keeping their eyes locked as he walked
Dean back into his room.  "Take a seat."
Still damp, Dean took a slow seat on the edge of his bed, suddenly very
nervous.  "Um, we don’t-- you don't have to do this, you know."
He regarded Dean evenly, tilting his head ever so slightly as he moved to kneel
between his legs.  "But I'd like to, if you'll let me."
Dean's fingers curled briefly into his sheets, and he shuddered, nodding. 
"Yes.  If you'd like.  Yes."
Leaning forward, Cas pressed a soft kiss to his lips, unwinding one of Dean's
hands from the sheets to lace their fingers together. Getting himself as
comfortable as possible, Cas offered a little smirk up at him, pressing a line
of soft kisses down his chest, lowering his head further to brush over the head
of his cock.
Dean clutched at his hand, breath catching, and he watched him as a warm mouth
moved down over him, biting back a pleasantly shocked sound as lips touched
him.  He'd never done this, never gotten this far with anyone, and even the
smallest touch sent a rush through him, a whimper slipping over his lips.
To be frank, it wasn't the most pleasant of things, but the whimper that Dean
let out more than compensated.  Carefully, Cas licked at the head of his cock. 
Shuddering, Dean's gaze fluttered shut, and he gripped more firmly at his hand
and curled more tightly into the sheets.  The muscles of his stomach and his
thighs trembled; he quivered and did his best not to shift too much, let
Castiel set the pace, let him take his time and explore.  Accepting each touch
like a gift.
Giving a curious hum, he looked up at him briefly, gauging Dean’s reaction as
he sucked the head of his cock into his mouth, tongue undulating around it. 
Dean’s lower back curved, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the
cry that fell over his lips.  Shuddering, Dean's eyes glazed over slightly, and
he let pleasure wash through him. 
Humming softly, Cas wrapped a hand over the rest of Dean's length, sucking at
him with increasing enthusiasm.  Whining behind his fingers, Dean's head fell
back, and his cock throbbed as wet and heat and yes, good, ecstasy rushed
through him.  Surround him.  Leaving him breathless and trying not to squirm.
Breath catching, Dean finally looked back down at him, eyes dark as Castiel's
tongue pressed along the sensitive bundle of nerves just below the head of his
cock, warm vibrations sending fantastic little shudders up his spine when Cas
groaned, watching his length disappear past sinfully stretched lips, the vision
obscene and breathtaking.  Moaning, he ran his fingers through Castiel's hair,
grateful and affectionate, feeling that coil in him tighten until he was on the
precipice of ecstasy.
The fingers in his hair drew a rumbling moan out of Castiel, lapping at the
head of his cock, squeezing.
"Cas," he gasped, tugging with warning.  "Cas, I-- I'm so--"
With a certain sense of urgency, Castiel pulled back, stroking over his
length.  Dean flinched, hips jerking as he came into his fist, hand going tight
in Cas’ hair as the other locked down on Cas' free hand, features drawn tight
with bliss as he moaned.  The hand in his hair tilted Cas' head back, watching
as Dean came with an oddly intense gaze, wanting to remember the look on his
face.
Panting, Dean slowly let his hands uncurl, rubbing soothingly at Castiel's
scalp in case he had pulled too hard.  Swallowing thickly, he stared down at
him with wide eyes, little tremors running through his body as aftershocks of
pleasure.  When he'd finally caught his bearings, blushing from the sight of
Castiel's hand around his softening length and covered in the evidence of his
rapture, he let out a soft sound. 
"Thank you," he breathed, shivering.  "Thank you, Cas."
Cas let out a soft chuckle, getting to his feet and letting go of Dean's hand
in order to go wash the spunk from his hand.  "You're welcome."  He said,
smiling warmly over his shoulder as he shook water from his hands and padded
back in to curl up next to Dean.
Flopping back onto the bed, Dean stared up at the ceiling, slightly dazed. 
Legs splayed open, chest rising and falling with each breath, he shuddered and
relaxed, limbs pleasantly heavy in his post-pleasured state.  After a moment,
he turned his head and looked over at Cas, giving him a fond smile.  Holding
his hand out for him, Dean laid it palm up expectantly on the sheets, feeling
awash with joy and affection, hair sticking up at odd angles and skin flush. 
"You're awesome, you know that?"
Cas took his hand, squeezing it gently as they lay there, comfortable as he
shifted to press up against Dean's side, resting his chin on his chest.  "Yeah,
I know.  You keep telling me."
"Probably because it's true," he muttered, fingers threading through Castiel's,
eyes locked on where their hands were woven together.  "You're amazing,
Castiel."
He leant up to press a soft kiss to Dean's cheek, resting against him.  "So are
you."
Turning his head, he let his lips brush over Cas' as he spoke.  "I hate to say
it, but we should probably get dressed."
"Do we have to?"  Cas complained, curling an arm around him as he nestled in
closer, not quite willing to get up yet.
Leg laying over Cas', he shook his head, fingers stroking along the arm Cas had
draped over him.  "No, not yet.  But soon."
Burying his face into the crook of Dean's neck, Castiel let out a pleased hum,
enjoying the slide of bared skin together.
Turning his face so that his lips could rest at Castiel’s temple, Dean let his
eyes flutter shut.  He found himself too calm.  Too relaxed.  Too content there
in his arms.  It was perfect, and Dean couldn't help but feel like maybe it
wouldn't last.  Nosing into his hair, he gripped Cas' hand a bit tighter,
afraid that maybe this all was just temporary, but forced himself to keep his
fears on the back burner.  They could be addressed later.  Later when he wasn't
so busy wrapping himself up in Castiel. 
When he wasn't so busy falling.
Cas noticed the grip on his hand with a little concern, knowing Dean well
enough to sense when he was over thinking things.  Tightening his hold around
his waist, he nudged at his neck.  "You think too much," he chided, voice
muffled.
Dean huffed out a laugh.  "That's a first."
"Hardly." Cas said flatly, raising his head to look up at him.
"It is for me," he said, matter of factly, meeting his gaze evenly, ever self-
depreciating. 
Cas let out a soft huff of disapproval.  "Shush."
"What?"  He chuckled, finding nothing wrong with the way he saw himself, the
know-nothing jock, the failure.  "It's true."
A little furrow formed between Cas' brows, giving him a faint disapproving
look.  "One day you'll see."
"And you'll be the one to show me?"  He asked, mostly in jest, not believing
for a second that he was half as good as Castiel believed him to be, his hand
coming up from where he'd been tracing idle patterns over Cas' arm in order to
cup his cheek, thumb brushing just under his eye.
"Somebody's gotta put some sense into that head of yours."  He said, leaning
into his hand.
"And you drew the short straw," Dean concluded, wincing sympathetically. 
"Sorry."
"I volunteered."  Cas countered.
"And why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?"  He asked, voice
softening, thumb dragging over the line of his cheek.
Cas stalled for a moment, mouth going dry as he struggled to come up with an
answer that wasn't 'I love you.'  He let out a soft sigh, turning his head to
press a kiss to the palm of his hand.  "Because I wanted to."
"Stupid as it is," Dean said, eyes alight and warm, guiding Castiel's face up
to meet his so that he could press a kiss to his lips.  "I'm glad."
He hummed softly against his lips, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling the
steady beat of his heart. "So am I."
"Good," he smiled, kissing him again.  "Because now you'll never be rid of me."
"Who said I wanted to be rid of you?"
Beaming at him, Dean kissed him again, lingering longer this time.  There were
words that stuck to his tongue, clung to his lips, and wouldn't leave him, but
he felt his heart give a ridiculous stammer and he pressed ever closer. 
He could feel the shift in Dean's heart beat, nudging affectionately against
his cheek.  "We should stay here forever."
"My bedroom?"  Dean chortled, nose dragging over his cheek in reply.  "You want
to stay in my bedroom forever?"
"I'd have to bring some clothing, but yeah.  I think I could stay here."
"You could always just borrow some of mine," he muttered, playing along with
this silly little fantasy, hand tangling with the one resting on his chest. 
"Unless, in this alternate universe we're talking about, we don't ever wear
clothes."
Chuckling softly, a rich sound that rolled easily off his tongue.  "I like that
alternative."
Flushing a pretty color, he let himself drift, thumb tapping thoughtfully. 
"We'd either had to have evolved to not need food, or... Or this is a universe
where we have the entire house to ourselves, and the fridge just magically
keeps on filling."
Pulling him in closer, Cas pressed into his neck, smiling against his skin, "I
like food too much to give it up."
"So a magical refilling fridge."  Dean stated, grinning lopsidedly, and he
untangled a hand in order to stroke leisurely up and down Cas' spine.  "Whole
house.  Just for us.  Naked all the time.  Sounds pretty good to me."
Castiel hummed his agreement, spine arching into his touches.  It simply wasn't
fair, how comfortable he was, how safe he felt, all wrapped up in Dean's arms,
legs tangled together.
Dean kissed the top of his head, letting out a soft sound.  He held him closer,
let his eyes fall shut, and buried his nose into the dark of his hair.  Those
words were back again, on his tongue, burning there.  He swallowed them down, a
little panicked, and felt his heart skip a beat.
"We really should get dressed."
Reluctantly, Castiel nodded extracting his limbs from Dean's grasp and
standing, arching his back to stretch out, oddly flexible.  Looking at the pile
of his clothes, strewn over the floor, he let out a soft huff of annoyance,
picking up his shirt gingerly.  "You mentioned clothes borrowing."
Laughing, Dean slid to his feet, moving over to take his shirt from him and
then going to pluck up the rest of the dirty clothes before he headed towards
the restroom.  "Yeah, go ahead and take your pick.  I'm gonna throw these in
the hamper so I can wash them later."
Offering a warm smile in thanks, Cas moved over to his dresser, opening drawers
in search of something that might actually fit him, being a little thicker
around the waist than Dean.  He was halfway through his tee shirt collection
when he noticed a flash of something distinctly satiny.  Narrowing his eyes, he
peered at it for a second.  No way.
"Uhm, Dean."  He called, picking up what were unmistakably female undergarments
of the pretty variety, a slow smirk on his face.  "You wanna explain, or can I
just imagine?"
"Explain what--?"  Dean came to a halt right outside of his bathroom door,
freezing with his eyes on the the scrap of bright aquamarine satin. 
Face going a deep red, he opened his mouth to try and explain, but found
nothing convincing to say.  He could try and pass them off as an ex-
girlfriend's, but that would explain why they were folded so neatly and hidden
in his dresser.  
Eyes wide with panic, he glanced up at Cas, completely at a loss.  "I um...
I... Those-- Those are just... underwear."
"Yeah, no shit.  I can see what they are."  Cas said flatly, eyes narrowing in
suspicion.  If they were Dean's, he'd be okay, a little surprised, but okay. 
However, if they were somebody else's, heads would roll.  "Who's underwear?"
He gulped audibly, feeling suddenly very naked and veryvulnerable.  "...mine."
It took him a moment to process, ticking over the idea, the odd few mental
images greasing the way to soften the jealous little scowl on his face. 
"Really?"  Cas asked, looking from the scrap of fabric to Dean and then back
again.
"Yes," his jaw clenched briefly, hands flexing at his sides.  "They're mine."
Raising an eyebrow, he let out a soft hum, oddly approving as his mind created
a neat little image of exactly what that would look like.  He nodded slowly,
partially in approval though it wasn't quite his thing. 
"And you use them for...?"  Cas asked, mostly teasing.
Rolling his eyes, Dean stalked forward, snatching the panties away from him,
still flustered and highly embarrassed.  "To wear, dumb ass."
Cas let out a put upon sigh, faking petulance as he chased after the article in
question.  "I know that, but when do you wear them?"
Holding them out of his reach, keeping them at his back.  "When I want to. 
And... sometimes when I, um... When I... you know."
A cheeky smirk quirked his lips, grinning over at him.  "Kinky little thing,
aren't you?"
His flush only increased, spreading from his cheeks and to his ears and down
his neck.  "No.  Just..."  His voice lowered, and he glanced down nervously. 
"I like certain things."
Castiel rolled his eyes, "I'm pretty sure that's what a kink is."  He said
flatly, trying to reach behind him and grab the offending panties.  "So, you
have a boyfriend, but you like women’s underwear?”
Cas' fingers caught on the material, and to avoid ripping it, Dean let it go
with a sigh.  "Yes, okay.  I like wearing women's underwear.  Do you have a
problem with that?"
He peered curiously at vivid material, head tilting ever so slightly.  "No,
it's just...  Unexpected."
"Good unexpected?"  Dean asked, weary and worried.  "Or bad unexpected?"
"Good unexpected."  He replied, "I just didn't think you'd be the type."
"To have kinks?"  He asked, meeting his gaze, and reaching out to take his
underwear back, pausing when Castiel kept his grip on them.
Carefully, he rubbed over soft fabric, letting them go after a moment.  "To
have that kind of kink."
"What kind of kinks did you think I had?"  He asked curiously, and he made to
fold them up, to put them away.
Cas considered is question for a long moment.  "I'm not sure."  He said slowly,
as though still trying to work it out.  "Just not that."
Brushing by, he placed them back in their spot hidden beneath his shirts with
the other pairs of lace and vivid colors, snapping the drawer shut as he opened
the top one and pulled out a pair of boxer-briefs for himself. 
Stepping into them, he pulled them up and over his hips, turning to face Cas
with a pensive expression.  "Are they going to bother you?"
"No."  Cas replied, still in the process of wrapping his head around it all,
moving to stand next to him as he searched around for a pair of pants.
"You sure?"  He asked, nudging hip against hip.  "Because you seem like it's
going to bother you."
"It doesn't bother me."  He replied, truthful. "But maybe one day you can show
me?"   
"I don't--"  Dean blushed, looking away, grabbing a shirt and pulling it over
his head.  "Sure.  If you were ever interested in that.  Sure."
Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.  "Thanks."  He said, mostly
playful as he snagged a slightly baggy pair of track pants and pulled them on.
"You're welcome," he said dryly, opening the bottom drawer to pull out a pair
of well-worn jeans, and tugged them up over his hips as he stuck his tongue out
petulantly. 
Chuckling, Cas popped the shirt drawer back open and found a shirt, tugging it
over his head.
"Hey," Dean muttered once they were both dressed, a hand coming to rest at his
hips tentatively, pulling him just a bit closer.  "Thank you for last night. 
For everything."
Cas moved for him with no complaints, leaning against him.  "You're welcome." 
He said, pressing an affectionate kiss to his cheek.
Smiling, he pulled back, moving to head towards his door and down to the
kitchen, beckoning Castiel after him.  "What do you want for breakfast? 
Chocolate chip pancakes?"
Cas let out a little hum of approval.  "Do you normally bribe your dates with
food, or am I special?"  He asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.
"Oh, I bribe everyone with food."  He smiled over at him, stopping at the base
of the stairs.  "Don't feel special."
Castiel smiled at him, and was about to reply when a familiarly obnoxious voice
called out from the lounge room.
"Morning boys, good night?" Gabriel asked, sticking a sleep scruffy head up
from his place on the couch and giving them a pointed look, standing up and
rolling his shoulders in an exact match to Cas' morning stretch.
Dean glanced over, eyes skirting over him briefly in a subdued admiration, and
he didn't even blush as he grinned charmingly-- that same one he'd given Gabe
at the bar when they'd first met-- as he walked into the kitchen with a wink. 
"Better than yours."
The retort Cas had lined up died on his lips when Dean winked, narrowing his
eyes at his brother, daring him to so much as even think the wrong way. 
Following Dean into the kitchen, considerably less amused than he had been not
moments before, he lingered close to him, unnecessarily possessive.  He
hovered, watching as Dean gathered what he needed, very much like a guard dog
protecting its territory.
"Cas?"  He asked warily, as he opened up a drawer, almost running into him for
the second time, rummaging around for a bag of chocolate chips.  "What's up?"
He curled an arm around him, nipping pointedly under his ear, "Mine."
Dean shivered, pressing into him, feeling a rush of heat at the claim.  "What
brought this on?"
"Please don't talk to my brother that way."  He mumbled, nestling in close to
him, equal parts jealous as he was afraid of losing him.
Expression softening, he turned in his hold to face him, cupping his jaw in
both hands as he forced Castiel to meet his gaze.  "Hey.  You don't have to
worry, Cas.  I'm not going anywhere.  You've got me.  I'm yours."
He swallowed thickly, looking over at him with the kind of vulnerability he
didn't let anyone else see.  "Promise?"
Nodding, he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.  "I promise,
Cas.  I'm yours.  I'm yours and you're mine."
It was some relief, enough to push his fears away, shuffling in close for a
moment, offering a smile as he pulled away.  "I'm yours and you're mine."
Catching his hands, Dean gave him a small, apologetic smile.  "I didn't mean to
freak you out or anything, Cas."
"I didn't mean to freak out."  He admitted, squeezing at his hands gently.
"I know," he nodded, pulling Cas in and kissing his cheek.  "It's okay.  I
don't mind.  Kind of sweet honestly."
"So, breakfast?"  Gabriel asked, padding into the kitchen. 
Dean pulled away from Cas, but kept a lingering hand at his wrist, offering a
smile to the older man.  "How do you feel about chocolate and pancakes?"
A bright smile lit up Gabriel's face, ignoring the pointed look Cas was giving
him.  "I knew there was a reason I liked you."
There was banter on the tip of his tongue, but Dean cast a fleeting glance
Castiel's way and swallowed it down, turning back to gathering what he needed
to make breakfast.  "Don't worry.  Everyone likes my cooking."
Gabriel saw Dean hesitate, saw the little glance he cast to Castiel and let out
a long sigh. "Don't be such a wet blanket, Cassie.  I'm just messing with him."
Castiel gave his brother a flat look, hardly amused by his accusation, even if
part of him knew it was right.  "Then don't mess with him."
"You do."
A vivid flush lit up Cas' cheeks at the implications, falling back to the most
effective, albeit childish response he could think of.  "Shut up, Gabriel."
Dean grinned to himself, measuring out the right amount of pancake mix and then
pouring in a cup of chocolate chips.  "Is messing with me a family trait?"  He
asked playfully, back to the both of them as he added in the milk and vegetable
oil he needed, whisking it all together with practiced motions.  "Should I look
out for the other Novaks?"
In near perfect unison, Castiel and Gabriel turned to him, equally foreboding
expressions on their faces as they nodded.
"Probably, yeah."  Gabriel said, the usual mirth in his tone gone.
Dean looked their way, still thinking it was all in jest, but his smile
faltered at the grave looks on their faces.  "Damn, guys.  I don't know them-
- I mean, I've heard rumors about them, but they can't be that bad."
"I'll put it this way, Luc tried to smother his baby brother after our mother
died because apparently it was his fault."  Gabriel told him, tone sombre.  "We
are not what you think."
Dean’s brow ticked up in abhorrence.  “You’re shitting me.”
They both shook their heads in almost eerie unison.  "Why would I lie about
that?"  Gabriel asked.
"That's-- That's disgusting."  Dean said, shaking his head, feeling oddly ill
and he leaned back against the counter for support.  "That's disturbing.  Is
everyone like that?"
The brothers exchanged a glance, as though communicating together before
Castiel gave a slight shrug.  "It depends on what mood they're in.  Sometimes
they're quite companionable."
"Remind me never to meet them."  He said in a disquieted huff, a trouble
wrinkle appearing between his brows.  "No offense."
"None taken."  Castiel replied, speaking for his brother.
Frowning to himself, Dean turned back to the bowl of batter, stirring it around
a bit aimlessly, distracted with disordered thoughts.  "And I thought my dad
was a dick."  He muttered, mostly to himself.          
Gabriel had fallen into a somewhat pensive silence, an almost bitter look on
his face, not unnoticed by his brother, and Castiel made a mental note to talk
to him later.  Of the both of them, it had always been Gabriel that struggled
the most with leaving, having to let go of a family he adored unwaveringly
despite all of their faults, and sometimes it took some serious convincing to
talk him out of going back home.  It wasn't as though his family were all bad
people-- a little misguided perhaps, and sometimes controlling to the point of
suffocation, but not all bad.  Once upon a time, you might even say they were
affectionate with each other.
Turning his attentions back to Dean, Castiel tilted his head as he watched him
work, a less than comfortable silence falling over them, the brothers’
occasionally sharing a glance, as though trading secrets in their gazes.
Dean didn't look his way until the first pancake was cooking on the stove, and
he felt pinned under the intensity of their stares-- solemn and burdened,
almost blind, lost in something a lot like turmoil-- electric blue and warm
whiskey, and it made Dean's heart ache.  They both glanced at one another,
lingering for a moment before gazing back at Dean, silent in their waiting, and
he regretted ever bringing up their family.  It seemed to hang heavy in the air
between them, almost stifling, and it had been a long time since Dean felt the
need to comfort anyone so much.
Clearing his throat, Dean leaned back, crossing his arms in order to keep
himself from reaching out for the both of them.  “Subject change anyone?”
Cas shook his head as though to clear it, and offered Dean a shaky smile,
nodding almost frantically, knowing both he and Gabriel needed a change before
they got sucked into their own thoughts.  He'd been good with conversation, and
frankly, any thoughts line ran dry the second he tried to come up with
something to change the subject, sending Dean a helpless little look.
“So Gabe,” Dean glanced his way, dutifully stepping up to the plate.  “How do
you like the club business?”
Breaking out of his reverie, Gabriel gave a slight shrug.  "It's fair work. 
Some of the patrons are dicks, but generally it's good."
"Long nights, I'd imagine.  You guys must order take-out all the time," Dean
muttered, and it sort of struck him as he was flipping the pancake in the
skillet with a skilled swooped and jerk of the pan; it landed perfectly.  "How
long has it been since you two had a home-cooked dinner?  Not counting last
night?"
Gabriel opened his mouth to answer, and then abruptly closed it as he thought
back.  It had been a while. 
Cas shrugged.  "Neither of us can cook," he said, drawing a sound of protest
from his brother.  "No, Gabe, cookies at four AM whilst drunk does not count as
cooking."  He added, silencing his brother’s protests.  "We never had to learn
how to, and home cooked is a broad term.  We had minders for that when we grew
up."
"Jesus," Dean huffed out a breath, shaking his head in disappointment.  "What's
your regular night off, Gabe?  You must have one."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow, sensing where this was going with a broad smile. 
"Tuesdays."
"Tuesdays."  Dean muttered, mostly to himself as he shuffled a cake off onto a
plate and then poured another into the skillet before turning to face the both
of them.  "Then from now on, every Tuesday, I'll cook for you.  I have practice
until three thirty and then work until six.  You guys can come over and eat
with me and Sam."
Gabriel grinned at him far too pleased with the offer of food.  It took him a
moment, grin falling ever so slightly as he thought through the offer, finding
something missing in Dean's logic.  "Won't your parents get a little pissed?"
"No," his voice softened very faintly.  "No, they won't.  Fact is, you'll
probably never see them."
Sensing it was an awkward topic, Gabriel backed off, nodding slowly, knowing
all too well how difficult it was to speak of family.  "Well, I suppose that's
convenient."
"Not always," Dean smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.  "But
certainly a lot less broken glass to clean up."
Cas nudged carefully at his hip, sliding a hand over the opposite one in
concern, wanting to make him feel better. 
Pointedly ignoring the affection with just a little envy, Gabriel gave a soft
hum.  "Sometimes parents have more important things than their kids to deal
with."  He said, parroting his eldest brother.
"True," Dean nodded, flipping another pancake, his back to Gabriel, and he
denied himself the right to lean into Castiel for comfort.  "Especially if
those important things involve being dead or being drunk."
Cas remained where he was despite the way Dean shut him out, carefully running
a consoling hand over his rib cage.
"Yeah, especially then."  Gabriel agreed, a bitter little laugh leaving him.
Dean barked out a laugh too, shaking his head, more sadly bemused than anything
else.  He nudged into Cas, signaling that he was alright, that it was okay, he
plopped another pancake onto the plate and poured another, despite the space
that his boyfriend was eating up while trying assuage him.  "So Tuesdays then."
Dropping a kiss on his cheek, Castiel got out of his way, shuffling back to
rest against the fridge, a slightly concerned furrow between his eyebrows. 
Pausing for a moment, Gabriel nodded.  "Yeah, Tuesdays."
"Cool," he smiled, sort of excited about the prospect, certainly more
enthusiastic about the idea of spending time with Cas and his older brother
than he was about the conversation they'd been having.  "I'm sure Sam will like
having you guys around more.  He seems to like you, Gabriel."
Gabriel let out a soft hum.  "Yeah, I guess."  He said, considering their
conversation from the day previous.  "He's not so bad for a pint sized moose."
"Moose?"  Dean asked, chuckling.  "He's too little to be a moose.  Where the
hell did you get that anyway?"
"Wait a couple of years.  It'll happen."  Gabriel said, almost wise if it
wasn't for the smug looking grin on his face.
"I doubt it," he snorted.  He couldn't imagine his baby brother getting much
taller than Dean.  If taller at all.  He had four pancakes finished already,
and he looked over his shoulder at Cas.  "You guys wanna start now?  Syrup is
in the fridge.  Butter too."
"I said that about Cassie too, and he's a fucking giant."  Gabriel said,
earning an eye roll from his brother.
"You're just a short-ass."  Cas retorted, riffling through the fridge and
pulling out various condiments.
"You are pretty short, Gabe."  Dean added teasingly over his shoulder.
The man in question gave them both a scowl.  "Oh ha-ha.  Make fun of the short
guy.  Not my fault you guys are freakishly tall."
"Do you feel freakishly tall, Cas?"  Dean jibed, playful as ever as he set the,
now five, pancakes he'd made on the table.  "I don't feel freakishly tall."
"No, I'm quite sure this is normal height."  Castiel said, playing along at his
brother’s expense, earning a petulant looking pout.
"Shut up."
"Easy, Gabe."  Dean pat him on the shoulder companionably, moving back over to
the stove to cook up more pancakes.  "Have a seat, dig in, drown your tiny
sorrows in chocolate and syrup."
Gabriel landed a flick behind Dean's ear, sitting down at the table, grumbling
about freakishly tall morons.  Cas just rolled his eyes, joining his brother at
the table, shoving a bottle of chocolate sauce in his face, knowing it would
appease his terrible sweet tooth.
Rubbing at his ear, Dean laughed, pouring more batter into the skillet.  He
whistled softly to himself, some tune only he recognized, and he busied himself
with the breakfast until he felt there were enough pancakes for four hungry
young men.  Coming back over to the table, he set a larger stack down, and took
his spot next to Cas, knowing Sam would come down when he finally smelled the
proverbial bacon.  But even without him, sitting there with Castiel and
Gabriel, moving around each other with surprising ease, it felt a little bit
like family.
And to be honest, it was something Dean could definitely get used to.  
End Notes
     Story Title: "How Long" by How to Destroy Angels
     Prologue Title: "Fire" by Delta Rae
     Chapter One Title: "Traveling Riverside Blues" by Led Zeppelin
     Chapter Two Title: "My Own Worst Enemy" by Lit
     Chapter Three Title: "Blue Sky" by The Allman Brothers Band
     Chapter Three Songs: "Traveling Riverside Blues" by Led Zeppelin, "Up
     and Around the Bend" by CCR
     Chapter Four Title: "Passenger Seat" by Death Cab For Cutie
     Chapter Five Title: "Bad Things" by Jace Everett
     Chapter Six Title: "Guilty Filthy Soul" by AWOLNATION
     Chapter Seven Title: "Got It Bad" by ZZ Ward
     Chapter Eight Title: "Mirrors" by Justin Timberlake
     Chapter Nine Titles: "Gimme Shelter" by The Rolling Stones
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