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Sam didn’t know why Cas had left at 3 am without a word, gently closing the bunker door behind him so no one heard.
And Dean wasn’t going to tell him it was because of him. Or rather, what he’d done.
Dean could lie to himself and say it wasn’t really his fault, he was out-of-his-mind drunk on the last of their whiskey that had been aging since the men of letters died out. Guilt from their last hunt sat in his stomach like sunken rocks, and the only way to distract himself was gulping down more than he could bear.
So there he was, just last night, in the dean cave with Cas by his side. Sam had gone to bed early, or rather to go sulk in his room because he found it better to be alone. So, that just left the two of them and Dean watched through blinking blurry eyes as Cas turned on some chick flick because he “liked the aesthetics of the cover”.
As the night aged and the bottle in his hand got heavier despite it getting emptier, he was feeling more comfortable. To be fair, he was always comfortable with Cas. He always filled the room with a kind of warmth, and usually he would think it was some kind of angel-of-the-lord thing but Cas had lost his grace a while ago. He was now living on burgers and beer, courtesy of Dean’s influence, and something about Cas being human—it felt like there wasn’t some moral barrier, like he could reach out and Cas couldn’t fly away, he’d just have to endure Dean’s presence.
But, Cas doesn’t make him feel like someone who has to be endured. He makes him feel wanted, needed, loved. Now that they were both human, Dean hoped that Cas understood that his angleiness, isn’t why Dean keeps him around. He keeps him around because his smile touches something deep in his chest, a twinge of pain and a spark of pleasure at the same time. He keeps him around because his touch is so horrifically tender and gentle that it makes Dean melt in a way that he never thought he could. His protective reactions that seem so fondly innate. His stupid hair and his stupid trench coat. His proud stature and his one-way-glass intimidation.
But, most prominently, Dean keeps him around because of nights like these. Where Cas and Dean are together, not on a hunt or fighting in baby, just left alone in chaotic serenity. A forgotten bowl of popcorn set on the floor, dark lights and the sounds of soft breathing interrupting sweet silence. Cas’s shoulder pressed fully against Dean’s as he leaned halfway across the recliners’ armrests like it would be too much of a loss if he wasn’t touching Dean in some way.
Dean’s arm was thrown over the seats, terrifyingly too afraid to lower it just a inch so it was laying across Cas’s broad shoulders. His other hand was enclosed around the neck of a bottle, the liquid inside now scarce. Dean was too tired and too drunk to watch the movie, as the screen melted away into frozen fragments of color, but he wasn’t too anything enough not to watch Cas.
His darted over Cas’s face, the firm straight lines that made up his jaw bone and nose were lost in the construction of his cheeks. They reigned flushed as Cas would laugh every few minutes, the sound skittering over every bone in Dean’s body and sending his heart fluttering like–butterflies or something.
His eyes, a bright blue, like a morning sky or a frozen lake lit up as the movie proceeded, shining glowing projections in his irises. They would slide over to Dean’s lap every few minutes, followed by a hunch of his shoulders when Dean picked up the bottle and lifted it to his lips.
Everything else about him was just Cas. His pale skin looking so soft and golden in the dark room, and the short stubble on his chin shouldn’t have made Dean as worked up as it did. He wondered what it would feel like if Dean reached for his face, tracing gentle strokes down the side of his cheek. He wondered what it would feel like if he kissed him, his lips grazing his face to press a kiss on every—
“Dean,” Cas spoke into the darkness, pulling Dean out of his scrambled secret fantasies. He said his name, but not in the way that he usually does, with exasperation and sarcastic impertinence, but with consumption, wonder–only to realize his eyes were still stuck to the TV like it was actual porn or something.
But no, it was just a regular romance movie (Dean could tell by the ‘coming of age’ soundtrack).
“Why are you speaking so quietly?” Dean said, not meaning for his words to slur as much as they did.
“Sam said not to talk during movies,” He said, glancing once at Dean before returning his gaze to the TV. He pointed at the screen, his shoulder momentarily leaving Dean’s, a wave of cold hitting him. “Why is she going out with him, if she likes the other guy?”
Cas was human, but he was always a little innocent. A little naive. Dean didn’t mind, he liked to teach Cas about the human world. But this, this was simple: Because it prolongs the plot. But Cas looked at it like it was some deep-rooted mystery.
“I don’t know,” Dean said, and Cas’s brows furrowed at the screen that lit up with pink hearts. “I guess,” Dean started, a sorta panic welling in his chest at Cas’s dismay. “She doesn’t know if the other guy likes him,”
“Oh,” Cas nodded in understanding, a half minute later, where a montage started in the movie, he asked, “Why doesn’t she just ask him then?”
A thorn stuck itself in between Dean’s ribs and heart, he shifted uncomfortably. He laughed awkwardly, swirling the last of his whiskey inside the bottle, “Because it’s not that easy,”
Cas fully turned to him now, a shadow casting over half of his face. Dean drank. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience,”
Cas’s hair was messy, his coal-dyed locks stuck up in foolishly adorable ways. Dean wanted to run his hand through it.
“Nah, no chick flick moments remember?” He groaned, leaning back against his recliner and looking between Cas and the empty ceiling. “I'm just saying–think about it, what if he doesn’t feel the same way?”
“Well, he does,” Cas said with lifted eyebrows. And Dean had forgotten they were talking about movie characters, where dramatic irony and happy endings are very much a thing. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s never known to be the guy to ‘get the girl’ or in this case, guy.
“Maybe if you kept watching it would make more sense,” Dean snapped half-heartedly, sliding his own gaze back to the bottle in his lap.
Cas turned his head slowly back to the TV, biting the inside of his cheek.
“Are all movies this enticing?” Cas asked practically on the edge of his seat, and eyes awake with excitement.
Dean was awake for other reasons, the alcohol still had a painful grasp on his mind, but for a moment it was all clear. Cas grabbed his hand, wrapping his fingers around his own as he tugged and squeezed them.
“God Cas, are you fourteen?” Dean quipped, even if he was thoroughly enjoying watching Cas get so eager about the obvious ending to the movie.
Cas’s hold weakened, his soft skin releasing Dean’s calloused fingers. And at first Dean had thought he did something wrong, maybe his comment had ruined the moment but no. The room had gone silent, everyone in the movie and Cas waiting for the main character to make a choice.
“Just tell him you love him already!” Cas complained, the pads of his fingers brushing over Dean’s raw knuckles. Dean couldn’t help but draw back into himself at Cas’s comment, reaching for the bottle of very little whiskey.
By now Cas’s trench coat was thrown over the back to the recliner, his pants were wrinkled and his dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to his forearms. His blue tie was loosened, the knot falling well below the third button. The top of his shirt was opened, his pale collarbone practically begging to be colored purple by Dean’s willingness.
Dean was lost in the angelic mirage sitting next to him, he missed the moment in the movie where the two characters kiss. But he didn’t however miss the way Cas squeezed his hand, his smile stretching dumbly across his face. And suddenly, Dean wanted him to smile at him like that.
Dean drank, the rest of the whiskey falling against his tongue. Dean tossed the bottle, frustration bubbling hotly, and it fell on the ground with a hollow clunk.
Cas looked over at him with worried anticipation, but Dean didn’t say or do anything.
Credits began to roll and the room darkened, trepidation and anxiety turning over in Dean’s gut. Something sour and sticky, like the aftermath of drinking too much. But the hangover effects were supposed to come tomorrow morning, not today.
“Put on another movie,” He suggested gruffly.
“Aren’t you tired?” Cas tried. Dean could only see the silhouette of his face in front of him.
“Aren’t you? Come on, if I went to bed now, I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway,”
“You’re having trouble sleeping?” Cas spoke, a caring tone floating and gripping around his heart. Dean wondered where his walls went.
“Cas,” Dean warned. But yes it was true, he supposed sleeping let his guard down, all the thoughts he kept hidden and pressed down, were exposed. He was afraid to be reminded of hell, or Sammy dying, or at today’s hunt, where a girl died in his arms. But, there was also the fact that once Dean was alone in bed, he couldn’t help but to yearn for someone to be with him, next to him. Longing for Cas to know how much he wants him.
“Dean, if you ever need to talk–”
“I don’t,” Dean said pointedly, squaring his jaw he couldn’t help but watch as light framed Cas’s face.
“Okay,” Cas said slowly, his voice low, “But from my experience from being human,” The light glittered in his eyes, touching his mouth with an alluring glow, “though very brief, I’ve found that talking about what I feel–” and Dean just couldn’t take it anymore.
“Do you ever shut up?” Dean slurred, his words deep in his throat but audible as he leaned in. He restrained himself as much as he could, only touching Cas’s chin with the tips of his fingers, softly pressing his lips to Cas’s. His lips were as Dean imagined, heavenly. A feeling that he could get drunk on them alone crawled into Dean’s gut, something possessive, aggressive, protective.
But it was gone in a moment, when Dean pulled away and the room swelled with hot stuffy air. The walls around his heart were burned to the ground by now, ashes blowing over a vast plain, and the fire so hot it even provoked the smallest amount of fear in Dean’s chest.
He could barely see Cas’s face but he could see where his lips were left slightly parted, unmoving. His eyes darted over Dean’s face in a wondrous confusion. Dean felt nothing but satisfaction, but the unwanted emotions of humiliation and guilt washed over him quicker than he could think about how Cas was leaning in so very close.
“I need a beer,” Dean announced, rising from his seat. He left Cas in the black room, credits still rolling with music fading into the soundproof walls. He left him with the empty whiskey bottle and the sounds of his own stumbling feet across the floor.
Dean never came back, instead he passed out over the table in the kitchen, drunk on some cheap beer.
When he woke up, Cas was gone. Sam was jogging into the kitchen, not sparing a second glance. And Dean, well he buried his face under his arms again and willed himself asleep. Some dreams were better to confront than to suffer through reality.
Now it was a week later, Dean laid in his bed pressing the half of his face that wasn’t torn up against his pillow. He reached clumsily for his night stand, accidentally knocking one of the empty beer bottles off it and onto the floor. The sound made Dean flinch tiredly into the covers.
He was awoken twenty minutes later by his phone, he searched for it lazily and held it up to his face. The bright light was abrasive against his unadjusted eyes, but the name that ran across the top made every bone in Dean’s body freeze. Frigid water flushed through his body as he leaned up on his elbows, accepting the call.
“Cas?” He spoke, more desperate than he intended but no less than what he felt.
There was a breath, tired and discomfit, then, “Sam isn’t answering his phone,”
Dean couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his voice, answering his odd statement with the same amount of ambiguousness, “So?”
He sighed, this time he sounded more irritated than embarrassed, “Can you come let me in?”
“You’re here?”
“Yes,”
Dean hurried out of his bed, nearly tripping over his socked feet as he ran up the stairs to get the door. But his eagerness fled fast as feelings of obnoxious guilt thrummed on his heart like an unwanted guest.
Ignoring the deep ravine in his chest, he pulled open the door. Cas’s blue eyes were the first thing he saw. They were frosted, melting with despair and his face as still and blank as Dean would have expected. He looked disheveled, just as he did last night, perfectly disheveled. But the awkward drunk arousal he felt then was gone, now he looked at Cas with an impossible apology on his lips.
There were countless combinations of what to say flying through his head, each one seemed more meaningless than the next. He opened his mouth to speak, hoping the words would just flow out but nothing came.
Cas’s eyebrows furrowed just the slightest, then he walked in. Not even their shoulders brushed as Cas walked past him into the bunker, leaving Dean’s head sinking until his chin hit his chest.
Dean wasn’t going to let Cas ignore him. He was going to fix this. So he ran down the stairs, following Cas so closely that their steps synced into unison.
“So you’re back,” He said obviously, but realistically Dean couldn’t think around the thumping in his chest.
“Yes, Dean,” But Cas was talking to him, so that is a plus.
“Where were you?” He asked, Cas led them into the hallways, the gray walls making everything feel gloomy.
Cas spared a cold glare, “I went for a drive, as you would say,”
Dean’s lips pursed, “You were gone a long time, where’d you go?” He was really just talking, talking, talking. Talking until he could apologize. Talking so that maybe he wouldn’t have to.
“Does it really matter Dean?” He remarked sternly, turning into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee pot. Dean stopped walking with him, lingering near the doorframe. When Cas realized he cleared his throat, then his shoulder’s shivered in a way that reminded Dean of a bird ruffling its feathers. “Don’t say you were worried about me,” Cas added shortly, lightly.
“Of course not,” Dean leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms tightly against his chest to try to quell the feeling he got at just looking at the man in front of him. “Big strong guy like you? You don’t need me,”
Cas’s pointed stare that he was giving the coffee pot wavered for just a moment as he hummed in what Dean accepted as agreement. His lungs tightened, realizing the conversation had come to a stop and he hadn’t done anything to save the awkwardness between them. There was awkwardness right?
Still avoiding the option to apologize for a kiss he barely remembers, he just prolonged the stretch of tension between them with a totally normal question, “So what are you doin’ today,” He said, giving a peppy smile.
Cas walked by him and back out to the hallway, without a word, his hands empty of coffee.
Dean followed, marching along to Cas’s slow tired steps.
“Probably catch up on some lore,” They were back out in the main area of the bunker, the lights on the control panel blinking intermittently and rather annoyingly in the corner of Dean’s vision. Cas stepped up the stairs to the library, “might search the records for something–” Then he stopped himself, his feet came to a strict halt and Dean almost ran into him.
“Why? Did you have plans?” He asked, turning on his heels so that he was face to face with Dean. He looked at him with nothing, not a drop of adoration or rage or dejection was visible in his drooped eyes, nothing for Dean to hold onto.
Plans? Dean wondered, blue icicles flying into his heart by his own doing. He couldn’t look away, not now or last night.
Plans? Yes, Dean spoke inwardly, breathless. He would kiss apologies onto every peg of Cas’s spine just so that he knows he’s sorry.
He’s sorry for leaving him in the dark
He’s sorry for looking at him like he was in love and then getting drunk on his own internal humiliation
He’s sorry for being so stupid
He’s sorry he can’t apologize properly because he’s never been able to
He’s sorry for not kissing–loving him sooner.
Cas placed a gentle hand on his cheek and Dean spluttered, stepping back tentatively, “What are you doing?”
The immediate shock and judgment that hit Cas’s face looked like it hurt before it dissipated into a blank bored stare, “You’re hurt,”
Dean had forgotten about the side of his face that had been ripped open by the claws of a werewolf, it stung but Dean could handle it,“No shit sherlock,”
Cas frowned, “I’m now powerless to heal you,” He reached forward again as if he was trying to make a point, and Dean gripped his wrist, lowering it from his face.
“Would you even want to?” He huffed a strangled laugh.
“Of course,” Cas’s eyebrows flattened.
“Why?” Dean asked, Why are you like this? Healing those who hurt you.
“Because,” Cas started, Dean let go of his wrist but Cas’s hand still held his. “You’re my friend,” He said, so simply, so pitifully. Then he smiled, a mockery of the real thing.
He reached up again and Dean let him. His finger grazed Dean’s cheekbone, “Sam taught me how to use first-aid kit, if you need help,”
Dean felt odd. The empathy in Cas’s voice was a nail through his chest. He would of let his face get infected if it was up to him, he didn’t have a care in the world about the slash down his face. So why did Cas?
“No,” Dean tilted his head away from Cas, “I’ll be fine,”
Cas tilted his head, like he didn’t understand what Dean said and let out a small exhale. His eyes darted behind Dean and then back to match his green gaze, “So that’s it then?”
The expectant tone threw Dean’s mind off-kilter, like everything he knew was stumbling and knocking into one another. Eyebrows creasing, he stammered, “What?”
“Just friends?” He questioned, eyes finally melting into the blue crystals that bled emotion. Raw, cold, and chilling anguish.
“You–” Dean started, but then turned afraid, unsure of what even to ask. He hoped Cas would fill in the blanks but he didn’t. He stood tall, taking a single, provoking step towards him.
The smell of Cas confused every one of Dean’s senses, his mind was malfunctioning, telling him he should just go get drunk and deal with this later. But no. He wouldn’t do that, he wanted this, he wanted Cas. “I’m sorry,” Is what came out of the mess of screw and bolts that was Dean’s brain, and frankly he was utterly astonished any words came out at all, “For–Uh for leaving last night,”
Cas’s shoulders fell, like he just accepted that it was real and not something he imagined. He sucked in his own bottom lip, and Dean wanted it in between his teeth. “Why did you?” He asked, and Dean could hear his nervous heartbeat in his words.
Dean was silent for a moment, deciding he was going to tell the truth, “I was afraid I made a mistake,” He professed, hot flames licking at his cheeks.
“Was it?” Cas asked, tilting his chin up so it had almost bumped against Dean’s, “A mistake?” The innocence and plain curiosity in Cas’s eyes selfishly made Dean want to sink his claws into him, he knew it would be for the worse; he wasn’t good for anyone.
Dean swallowed, he knew the answer instantly. But, his mind, a mess of fucked trauma and his fathers and brother’s voices bickering, it was almost enough to make Dean turn around. Almost.
The other option, the option of the love of his life standing before him, was much more appealing. It made him strong enough to say,
“No,” She shook his head once, his words barely stronger than a whisper, “It wasn’t a mistake,”
“So,” Cas began, a small smile drawing on his lips and Dean’s heart hurt from standing this close to him but not being able to touch him, “It’s something you’d do again?”
Dean felt as if he had just been struck by lightning, a pulse of sickly feverish warmth shot through his nerves. Cas’s words still floated in between them as Cas leaned forward, eyes blinking up at Dean like they were the only two beings on this planet.
How he wished it were true. Shame didn’t dissipate as he pulled Cas in close, sealing their lips in a kiss.
Shame didn’t dissipate as he backed him up against the library wall, hands ruthlessly searching for the good in Cass; pulling on his hair and hips, begging and promising he would be a better person if he could have just this one thing.
Shame didn’t dissipate as Cas smiled against his lips and Dean felt at home.
Shame didn’t dissipate, but he knew it didn’t matter, because he was in love and nothing about his past could keep him away from the angel that saved his life.
-SYRUP