chapter IV, part i
he had it all and lost it
now he's forever in space
i’ve tried playing it cool
but when i’m looking at you
i can never be
brave
because you make my heart race
In the end, it did wait.
Jared forgot entirely about asking Castiel about his powers-or, rather, his lack of them. When he swung his legs out of bed, blinking blearily, the first thing he did was pad in and out of the bathroom, showering and getting himself ready, before slipping on some comfy sweatpants and a loose-fitting t-shirt. He wandered straight past Castiel, who was just beginning to wake up; he was yawning and stretching, unfurling like a cat as he arched his back, and Sadie, who was still lying by his side, slid off the sofa, doing her own little equivalent of a stretch before bounding over to Jared. He was slipping on his shoes, tying up the laces; and then he grabbed the dogs’ leads and whistled for Harvey-who’d disappeared to go and sleep in Jared’s room, by the foot of the bed-, before heading out the door, taking the dogs for a walk.
Not once to he even think about talking to Castiel; it was actually the last thing on his mind, as he walked briskly down his street, cool, morning air hitting his face. He walked slowly, at first, gathering speed at a gradual pace, until soon enough he was walking briskly, a grin plastered across his face; it never took him that long to get up and ready for the day, anyway, but taking a walk always tended to help. Besides, he was waking his babies up, too-Harley kept bounding to stop and sniff at every lamppost, and Sadie was matching Harley’s level of energy easily.
With the speed they were dragging him along at, the walk would be over in no time.
And, sure enough, it was.
Too soon, he found himself back in front of the door to his apartment, slotting the key into the lock, twisting the knob and stepping inside. He glanced across at the sofa, and found Castiel sitting upright, hair mussed, eyes bleary-and he definitely was a sight to behold. His hair was usually messy, but this-this was a work of art. It stood up at all angles and his shirt-Jared’s shirt, actually, because the angel had taken to wearing it, despite owning more than enough clothes of his own-hung off his shoulders, baggy and loose-fitting. He stretched his arms above his head and it seemed to cling to him, just for a moment, but that was more than enough, and Jared felt this peculiar tingling in the pit of his stomach.
It took him a while to figure out what that was, but it felt like-
Like what?
Anticipation, a little voice whispered, and he banished the thought. It was a confusing thing to be feeling anyway, and he didn’t quite understand it, but he refused to dwell on the idea-or that little tingling, like a moth fluttering in the pit of his stomach, excited and peculiar-for too long, squashing it immediately. Instead, he cleared his throat, arranging his features into a cheery grin, as he said, “Good morning, star-shine-the Earth says, ‘Hello!’”, complete with a little wave at the end.
Castiel tilted his head, gazing back at him blankly.
Jared bent down, releasing Harley and Sadie from their leashes, raising an eyebrow, “Seriously? You don’t even-”
“I thought we had already established that I am not a star,” he yawned, stretching again-and oh God, there’s that little glimpse of stomach and those hip bones, that could not be legal; and this could not be happening, Jared wasn’t having those thoughts, and he closed his eyes and pretended he’d never even thought anything at all, “I am an angel of the Lord.”
Jared opened his eyes.
He didn’t look as though he’d noticed that little slip-he still looked tired, and his eyes were a little bewildered, and he was peering at Jared as if he’d grown a second head, and he couldn’t hide the feeling of relief which flooded through him. He rolled his eyes, shrugging off his jacket as he did so, and said, “I am so educating you to the wonders of today’s children’s films. What, don’t you guys have movie night up in Heaven?”
Castiel opened his mouth to reply.
Jared cut him off, chuckling, “That was a joke, Cas.”
“…oh.”
“Right,” he grinned, making his way into the kitchen, “Have you had breakfast?”
It was a stupid question, really, because Jared had seen Castiel wake up and therefore knew he hadn’t had breakfast-but he was looking for a change of subject, and that was the only thing he could think of at the time. He hadn’t really expected Castiel to follow him into the kitchen, either, but he had, bare feet cold against the kitchen floor-he was rubbing his eyes with one hand, looking lost and at home all at once, and it was bizarre, really, how easily he’d managed to fit in. He couldn’t help but think of the lost little angel he’d rescued as a kid, of the nights spent waiting with the window open, and then, gazing at his angel now, he couldn’t stop the dopey grin from spreading across his face.
It was weird.
Jared had expected to be angrier than this.
But now that he had his angel back-now that Castiel was stood in front of him, wearing his shirt, all mussed hair and sleepy eyes-, it was as though the anger had just… gone. There was still that need to know why, to understand, of course, but the anger had vanished, and that was a start.
“Are you hungry?”
Castiel shook his head, but his stomach chose that moment to let out a large growl-and although Jared chuckled, Castiel looked mildly intrigued, this look of surprise shooting across his face. He prodded his stomach slowly, looking as if he expected it to begin speaking to him, rumbling again or something like that. When it didn’t, something flickered in his eyes-fear, maybe, but that didn’t make sense-and he let his hands fall slowly to his sides.
“Dude, you’re just hungry,” Jared said, raising an eyebrow, “It’s fine. People do it all the time.”
“Angels don’t.”
That same something-hopelessness-flickered in Castiel’s eyes again.
There was a moment of awful silence, as Jared tried his hardest to figure out what to say-because those two words, that tiny, insignificant sentence, meant so much, and he just wasn’t sure what he could even begin to do to help Castiel. He thought of last night and Castiel saying he couldn’t magic himself back into their flat, after locking himself out, and that-well, that meant just as much. He opened his mouth, still attempting to think of the right thing to say, but his eyes met Castiel’s, and in that second he decided against it. The angel looked too dejected-so tiny-, and Jared decided it could wait.
He just didn’t know how long for.
“What about bacon?” He asked, suddenly, breaking the silence and switching the subject again-he crossed over to the fridge, flinging the door open and rummaging through it’s contents, “Everyone likes bacon, right? I mean, I think I have bacon-no, wait, I definitely have bacon; we had some yesterday, so there should be some left. Do you want bacon?”
“That sounds fine,” Castiel said softly.
“Alright, good,” Jared replied, before gesturing across at the kitchen table. There was a bit of clutter there, but not enough to stop them from eating at it, so he said, “You can sit down, y’know. This won’t take too long, and I’ll make some coffee, too, so sit.”
“Okay,” he said.
He watched as the angel made his way across the room, feet padding softly across the floor, and then he frowned, running a hand through his hair. He turned away, crouching down, searching through one of the cupboards to find a frying pan-anything, really, to stop Jared from looking at those slumped shoulders and that dejected frown. His fingers curled around the handle of a particularly large pan, and his brow furrowed as he pulled it out-he was about ninety percent sure that he should just let the moment slip, that he should wait for Castiel to begin talking to him, but the other ten percent was reminding him of when they were children.
Castiel was never the one to speak first then.
Things hadn’t really changed.
He wasn’t going to be the one to speak first now, either.
Jared cleared his throat, busying himself with the bacon as he struggled with his words. He could feel Castiel’s gaze on the back of his head, and it was getting rather uncomfortable; he knew he’d have to say something soon, otherwise he wouldn’t say anything at all, and what came out was a jumbled mess of words, “So, uh-I was thinking, y’know, that if you want to-I mean, about earlier, I was thinking… If you want to talk about it or, well, or just anything, you can, okay? I’ll-I won’t even say anything, which probably says something; I’ll just listen. So, when you’re ready…”
He winced.
That was even clumsier than he’d thought it would be.
“I mean, if you want to-”
“Okay.”
For a moment, Jared wasn’t sure what he’d heard.
Then, raising his eyebrows, he turned, abandoning the sizzling bacon in favour of peering at Castiel incredulously-the angel wasn’t quite meeting his eye, choosing instead to gaze at a spot just over his shoulder. He looked slightly sheepish, as if he was vaguely embarrassed, and there was still that awful hopelessness lingering in his eyes, but there was something else now, too-happiness. He couldn’t help the grin from spreading across his face, because, let’s face it, that tiny spark of happiness was better than what had been there before-and Jared was sure that he’d be able to fan the flames enough for Castiel to eventually tell him what was wrong.
He turned back to the bacon, swearing softly-a piece had stuck against the bottom of the pan, and as he attempted to scrape it off, he nodded slowly, repeating, “Okay… Okay! Right. That’s good. Okay is good. Brilliant, in fact.”
Behind him, Castiel chuckled softly.
He dropped the subject then, because there was really nothing else he could say-instead, as he cooked, he blathered on and on about random, irrelevant subjects, switching from talking about his family, to Jensen, to his dogs, and then to his date with Sandy. At that point, Castiel grimaced, mumbling, “I apologise for interrupting your date,” to which Jared rolled his eyes and said, “You’ve already apologised. It’s fine.” Although Castiel didn’t look as though he thought it was fine, he let it slide, choosing instead to stay silent as Jared immediately launched into a lengthy rant about the latest episode of Supernatural they’d been filming.
As he spoke, he boiled the kettle, picking up the cleanest mugs for coffee-when that was done, he set the kitchen table for them; a plate each, bread in the toaster, and then set down the mugs of steaming coffee. He watched in amusement as Castiel picked up the one closest to him, took a sip, and then immediately pulled a face, before reaching for the sugar.
He heaped in six teaspoons.
Jared rolled his eyes.
“It’s not that strong,” he mumbled.
Castiel just arched an eyebrow.
He was about to protest-but then he smelt burning and, cursing beneath his breath, he turned back around to tend to the bacon. It was pretty much done. Sure, it was mostly burnt, and there was one piece that was charred beyond recognition, but he figured he could just give Castiel the better bits and save the ruined pieces for himself; after all, he’d had years to get used to eating his crappy bacon sandwiches. He could cook for the most part, and his Ma had spent a good deal of time making cakes with him when he was a kid, but he’d never been big on proper breakfasts, and so he usually left that to anyone else.
Grabbing the toast from the toaster, he placed two slices on each plate, before putting the best bacon on Castiel’s plate. Once he was done, he put the pan in the sink and sat down opposite Castiel; he was only vaguely surprised to see that the angel still hadn’t started eating, so he gestured at the other’s plate, and said, “Dude, you can start, you know.”
He reached for his own sandwich.
A hand curled around his wrist.
He blinked.
Looking up, his eyes met blue-and, for a moment, he was entirely lost, bacon sandwich abandoned on the plate in front of him, because all he could see and all he could think of and all he could even begin to register was Castiel, and the earnest look in his eyes. It was as though he were pleading and begging and thanking all at once; and those blue eyes were deeper than Jared had first thought they were, and now that he was really looking, he thought that maybe they were darker than he’d first thought, too. And then he was thinking of how ridiculously warm Castiel’s hand was on his wrist, and how really it was holding just a bit too tightly to be comfortable-but it felt like it meant something more, you know?
Except, Jared didn’t know.
Except, maybe he did.
Then, all of a sudden-
“Thank you.”
And that was that.
After a while, Jared nicknamed it ‘The Talk’.
It felt like it was going to be something big, really, and so it deserved the capital letters it got-and he’d started almost affectionately referring to it as that when he was around Jensen, despite the fact that Jensen thought he was being ridiculous. He hadn’t really told any of the major details to his friend, despite the fact that he probably should, but he seemed to have grasped there was something major going on anyway. Jensen had said repeatedly that Jared should just ask, and therefore get it over and done with-and it was about midway through filming one of the latest episodes of Season One-Nightmare, in fact-, when he suddenly turned to Jared and said, “You know what your problem is? You’re a coward.”
“Not true,” Jared had scoffed, despite the fact that that was exactly his problem, “I just don’t want to push him into anything.”
“Sure,” Jensen had replied, and that was that.
He’d had a point.
But, the thing was, it wasn’t that either of them was avoiding-in fact, they’d both approached the topic carefully, almost tip-toeing towards it on numerous occasions, but that had been all. Neither of them was particularly willing to actually be the one to begin the conversation, and so it wasn’t really the fact that either of them was avoiding it-no, it was the fact that both of them were avoiding it. And Jared knew that wasn’t the way to go about it; he knew he’d have to say something sooner rather than later, otherwise it would get bigger and bigger and bigger, until neither he nor Castiel knew what to do with it.
But he couldn’t.
He didn’t know what to say.
He wouldn’t know what to do.
Jensen was right.
He was a coward.
shot me out of the sky
you're my kryptonite
you keep making me weak
frozen
i can't breathe
Hell House was a pretty entertaining episode to film. It was different to what they’d done with Supernatural before, and it felt as if they were taking a slightly fresher route-it wasn’t such a dark episode and, as a result, Jared felt as though he could play Sam a little differently. He found it fun to explore a new aspect of Sam’s character and, acting opposite Jensen, he could see his friend was having the same amount of fun doing the exact same thing for Dean. It felt jovial, entertaining. There was a lot of messing about in between sets, too, and at the end of the day, Jared went home feeling pretty light-hearted. When he opened the door, Harley practically launched himself at him, licking and panting, tail wagging-and Jared laughed, scratching behind his ear; he glanced about, searching for Sadie or Castiel, but he couldn’t see either. Instead, he could smell something strong wafting up from the kitchen; tomatoes, maybe?
Intrigued, he made his way over.
He found Castiel in the kitchen, standing helplessly in front of the stove-there was a pan of spaghetti boiling in front of him, and, in another, what looked like some sort of tomato sauce. It had gone watery and runny, and Castiel was sort of just brandishing a spatula pathetically at it, in the hopes that that would help it cook. There was an old cookery book open on the counter beside him-something his Ma had gotten him one Christmas, hoping that he’d actually learn how to cook something nice and extravagant next time she came round.
He hadn’t opened it once.
Arching an eyebrow, he asked, “Are you… cooking?”
“Attempting to,” Castiel replied, sounding somewhat sheepish-he glanced across at the cookery book, and then frowned, said, “It is harder than I first expected.”
Jared crossed over to the counter, heaved himself up, and then peered at the angel. Then he looked across at the tomato sauce. Spaghetti bolognaise was pretty much one of the only things Jared could cook relatively well, and as far as he could see, Castiel’s bolognaise-while lacking any meat, which was usually the thing Jared liked most about bolognaise-was actually pretty good. “It’s just a bit thin,” he murmured, and then gestured towards one of the cupboards, “You could see if we’ve got any more tomatoes, shove a bit more in-it should get a bit thicker then.”
Castiel tilted his head.
He stared at Jared for a moment, and then nodded slowly.
He watched as Castiel began rummaging through one of the cupboards, before picking out a tin of tomatoes-it was weird how easily the angel seemed to know his way around the kitchen. Jared had a feeling that this wasn’t the first time Castiel had tried cooking before, and he tilted his head, gazing at the other as he asked, “Is this what you do in the day?”
“I want to help out,” Castiel explained, frowning, “I feel… pointless.”
“You-wait, what?”
“It is not of import.”
Jared opened his mouth to chase up that little line of conversation-because, honestly, if there was ever a time they had come closer to having The Talk, then Jared didn’t remember it-, but Castiel fixed him with a look so sharp, so pointed, that he raised his hands in silent surrender. Okay, so they wouldn’t talk about it now, but it was becoming painfully obvious that they needed to talk about it-and even as Castiel switched the subject so easily, so fluently, asking how his day was and how filming went and how Jensen was, it was still there. It was there in the stiffening of the angel’s shoulders, and it was there as they made small talk, waiting for Castiel to dish the food up. It was still there when Jared found himself sat at the kitchen table-which was miraculously clear of all clutter-, gazing down at a steaming hot spaghetti bolognaise.
He ignored it, though, just as Castiel was ignoring it.
Instead, he chose to take a bit of his food.
It was actually pretty good, even if the tomato sauce had looked rather foreboding at first-it was thicker, now, and pretty well seasoned; and there must have been a look of utter surprise plastered across his face, because when he looked up, Castiel was rolling his eyes, looking smug and ever so slightly surprised himself. He grinned, before stabbing his fork into his spaghetti with renewed vigour, mumbling, “Cas, this is really good,” around a mouthful of food.
“I agree,” the angel murmured, taking a bite of his own food-and then his eyes widened in almost comical surprise, and he glanced up at Jared and said, “It’s edible.”
Jared raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. They ate in a comfortable sort of quiet, punctuated every now and again by short, brief spatters of conversation; Jared finished his food in record time, and, almost immediately, found himself scraping the last bits of spaghetti out of the pan and onto his plate, while Castiel commented dryly on how even angels cannot eat that much. Jared smacked his stomach, grinning, and said something about being a growing boy-to which Castiel tilted his head, alarmed, and said, “If you grow anymore, Jared, you will not be able to fit in your own house.”
“It’s a figure of speech, Cas,” he replied, swiping his finger across his plate, before popping it into his mouth and sucking away the tomato sauce, “Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh.”
He was aware of blue eyes watching him carefully.
Absent-mindedly, he ran his finger across the plate again, sucking again, practically licking the plate clean-it was only when he finished, looking up, did he notice Castiel doing the same thing. The angel was slower, though, neater and careful; unlike Jared, he didn’t run the whole length of his finger across the plate, and instead simply dipped his fingertip into the mess of sauce still on his plate, sucking once before licking away any excess. He looked sort of like a cat, Jared thought, inquisitive, constantly curious-wanting to try something new all the time, except…
Except, Jared couldn’t stop watching that tiny little pink of tongue.
His throat felt dry.
He tore his gaze away.
He opened his mouth to say anything, except no words came out-there was just this garbled, strangled sound, and he managed to squash it before it made Castiel too suspicious. His eyes met blue again and then, all of a sudden, there was that tongue, that mouth, licking and sucking and-oh, shit, he was going to have to stop him right now, because this was uncomfortable and Jared didn’t like the direction in which his thoughts were going.
He cleared his throat. “I, ah-”
Castiel swiped his tongue across his bottom lip-just a tiny, little gesture-, and Jared floundered.
“…uh.”
“Are you alright?”
“I’ll, uh-I’ll wash up.”
“That is okay,” Castiel murmured, standing, picking up his plate, “I will do it.”
“No way, Cas,” Jared replied, stealing the plate from him pretty easily, before dumping it into the sink-then he switched on the tap, rolled up his sleeves, and squirted a reasonable amount of washing up liquid into the bowl, “You cooked; it’s only fair that I do this. You can… I know! You can go and pick a film out, and we’ll watch that together, okay? It’s fine, I’ll only be a couple of minutes-I’m like a washing up pro. Seriously, if there were a game in the Olympics for this, I would be world champion, hands down.”
“I do not understand-”
“I’ve got this, Cas,” he said, his voice softer, “Go and pick a film already.”
He glanced over his shoulder, grinning, and he waited for Castiel’s nod; he turned back to the sink, then. There was the sound of bare feet padding across the kitchen tiles, out into the living room beyond-he waited until he heard knees hit the floor, the cupboard squeak open, and then Jared let his head fall forwards, hair hanging in front of his face. His arms were trembling, and he was gripping the edge of the sink so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. Okay-okay. So this was weird, and he didn’t really understand what was going on-or why he’d suddenly become so transfixed, so entranced, by that little bit of tongue, oh Lord-, but okay.
He could deal with this.
He could do this.
“I am so screwed,” he groaned, and wondered when his life had suddenly become the punch-line to God’s favourite joke.
It became a regular thing, then.
Jared would go to work as normal, but when he came back, Castiel would be in the kitchen, thumbing through a cookery book. The recipes he looked at were steadily becoming more and more advanced, and he picked up on new techniques and how to use new foods almost straight away; he was pretty good at it, and Jared figured that was probably because of his angel mojo, or something, but he wasn’t complaining. It was sweet, really-nice. He’d film an episode with Jensen during the day-he’d mess around with the cast and crew, pull pranks on them, just generally have a good time-, but he’d always make sure to eat in moderation, because Castiel would always have food ready for him when he came back.
As a result, he ate less at lunch.
A whole lot less.
It was something Jensen picked up on almost immediately, and Jared found himself cornered by his concerned friend, who stuck the back of his hand against Jared’s forehead, and grunted, “No, it doesn’t feel like you have a temperature.”
“That’s because I don’t?”
“You aren’t ill,” Jensen stated, even though it sounded like a question.
“Dude, no,” he replied, “Why, should I be?”
“You’re not eating anything.”
“This is what I-oh,” he cut himself off, eyes widening as understanding dawned on him, “No, it’s nothing like that, man-it’s just, Cas is making dinner, and I don’t want to eat too much because then I won’t eat much of his food, and y’know, that’d just be rude.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Jensen said, raising a hand to stop Jared where he was, mid-flow-and then he fixed Jared with that look that was part-Dean, part-Jensen; an eyebrow raised, dry disbelief obvious on his face, but a vague look of amusement glimmering in his eyes, “He’s cooking dinner. You’ve got an angel back at your flat, cooking you dinner, for when you get home from work, all tired and stressed and whatever-you two are practically married already.”
He ignored the sudden frantic beating of his heart.
Instead, he punched Jensen’s arm.
“Dude, not funny,” he murmured, and tried to ignore the look Jensen was giving him, as if he knew more than he was quite letting on; instead, his friend just held his hands up in surrender, as if willing to pass it off as a joke, “He said he didn’t like feeling pointless. He wanted something to do, so he started cooking.”
“He should get a job, then.”
“He’s an angel, Jen,” Jared scoffed, “I can’t just tell him to get a job.”
something's got to give now
because i'm dying just to make you see
that i need you here with me now
because you've got that one thing
Mrs Smith was a rather pleasant, jovial woman, who lived at room 3B. She had two of the sweetest children Jared had ever met-they were launching themselves down the hall one day, as he was bringing in his shopping, and the pair of them had collided with his legs, bringing all three of them down in a tumbling heap of giddy laughter, shrieks and, in Jared’s case, a rather manly yelp of pain. Mrs Smith had stood over him, apologising profusely, but he’d laughed it off and she’d invited him round for apple pie. He’d politely declined the offer-probably because he’d just returned from filming the pilot of Supernatural-but she’d been pretty light-hearted about the entire exchange.
Ever since, he’d only ever seen her about with her husband or her children, and they’d done nothing more than exchange a polite nod. It was strange seeing her sat at his kitchen table, chatting so animatedly to Castiel, as if she’d done it often before. His back was rigid, shoulders tense, and he was nodding his head jerkily to something she was saying, looking very much as though he wanted to be anywhere but there. Castiel spotted him before Mrs Smith, eyes beseeching as he silently begged for help.
There was a selection of baked treats laid out in front of them, like a bizarre scene out of Hansel and Gretel-brownies and apple crumble and strawberry tart and the most intricate gingerbread house he’d ever seen, among others-and, for a second, Jared could only stand in the doorway, surprise evident on his face.
Confused, he raised his eyebrows.
“Did we become a bakery but no one told me?”
“Oh, Mr Padalecki, sweetie-don’t just stand in the doorway, honey, come on in,” Mrs Smith said, when she spotted him, waving a hand, “I hope you don’t mind me intruding. Your friend-”
And she said it in the way that suggested Castiel wasn’t quite the same sort of friend Jared thought he was. It was weird, really, because she wasn’t the first person to have thought that. His mind turned back to the taxi driver, and then, grudgingly, to Jensen’s earlier comment.
He frowned.
“-and I were just doing a spot of baking. He popped round to ask to borrow the sugar, and I’m sorry, I couldn’t leave such a cute little thing on his own. I thought it was awfully sweet of him, too-so romantic, I wish my husband would get off his lazy ass and bake me a cake or two. Might show he thinks I’m more than a pretty face, you know? But oh, how adorable.”
Jared just gaped.
Castiel looked panicked.
Mrs Smith clapped her hands together and let out a trill of laughter, repeating, “Oh, how adorable, but I really should leave you two sweethearts alone, now. I mean, just look at the time; and you two have all these goodies to eat-you don’t mind if I take a few brownies back for my kids, do you? They look so delicious.”
“No, of course,” Castiel murmured, brow furrowing momentarily, “Please take as much as you want.”
“He’s a real darling, isn’t he?”
“Right,” Jared agreed hesitantly.
“You’re so lucky.”
“I… know.”
“Oh, how cute!”
“I, uh-wait, what?”
Bewildered, he couldn’t help but feel as though he were on a completely different page of an entirely different book to Mrs Smith. She let out a little tinkle of laughter, and then she turned and pressed a brief kiss against Castiel’s cheek, saying, “It was wonderful chatting with you, honey, and I’ve got plenty of cookery books-my husband bought me some Delia Smith for my birthday last year, bless him. I’ve never been a big fan of British chefs, but she does make some wonderful brownies. But I won’t keep hassling you two, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of stuff to do-and you’ve got all these cakes to eat, after all.”
“It was very nice meeting you, Mrs Smith,” Castiel said, fixing his features into a small, mostly terrified smile. His eyes kept flicking across to Jared, as if seeking reassurance, but Jared wasn’t entirely sure what to do-this was something of a weird experience for him.
He felt as if he weren’t quite in his own body.
It was surreal.
“Yes,” he agreed hurriedly, realising he’d fallen into a frightened daze, watching as their guest gathered a few cakes into her hands, “We should, uh-we should do this again sometime.”
“Pop around whenever you like, sweetie. I promise I don’t bite,” she beamed, as he walked her to the door. She gnashed her teeth together in what she probably assumed was a playful manner, and Jared chuckled somewhat nervously, glancing across at Castiel, who was hovering hesitantly by his side. Mrs Smith’s grin widened, and she chirped, “Oh, you two are sweet!”
And, with that, she turned and disappeared down the hall.
Jared couldn’t close the door quickly enough.
“What was that?”
“I do not know,” Castiel replied finally, “All I wanted was sugar.”
“Yeah, that’s what’s confusing me,” Jared grinned, tone turning teasing as he nudged Castiel’s side, “Dude, you bake. You never told me that.”
“I didn’t see a need to.”
“It’s the principle of the matter, man-you bake.”
“But you know I cook,” the angel said, sounding genuinely confused, “I don’t understand the difference.”
“I guess you wouldn’t.”
“I don’t-”
“Do you wear an apron?”
Castiel quirked an eyebrow, gesturing down at himself, “Am I wearing an apron now?”
“…No?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
“You wound me,” Jared placed a hand against his chest, feigning hurt, but the grin blossoming across his face spoilt that charade-he laughed, throwing his arm around Castiel’s neck, leading him back into the kitchen, “But dude, seriously-it’s like DC Cupcakes in here. How the hell are we going to eat all of this stuff? I mean, I’m sure I could eat them all, but I really should be watching my figure.” He flashed Castiel a grin then, coming to a halt in front of the table full of treats, and then tilted his head, “You know, of all the weird things that have happened to me lately, I think this takes the cake.”
Castiel frowned.
Jared apologized, “That was awful.”
“I do not-”
“It was a bad joke. Pretend it never happened.”
“When you were six years old, an angel fell from the sky, burning like a comet, and made a small crater in the field behind your yard,” Castiel murmured, brow furrowed, confusion evident on his face, “You then proceeded to hide that fallen angel in your bedroom for weeks, until-until that very angel left, only to return years later. And you hadn’t forgotten-you let me back in, and-and this is the weirdest thing that’s happened to you? This,” he finished, sweeping his hand in the air, gesturing at the cakes.
“Dude, how many angels have you heard of that bake,” Jared raised an eyebrow. “The cooking was strange, sure, but it all tasted awesome, so I was cool with it. But this really is weird. I mean, angelic powers aside, you don’t look like the kind of guy who bakes cookies.”
“I didn’t make the cookies.”
“Excuse me?”
“I made the brownies.”
“Oh, right-of course you did,” Jared rolled his eyes, “Because that makes so much more sense.”
“Try one.”
He shrugged and reached for a brownie, because he was certain it wouldn’t hurt to at least try one, teasing comments aside. It crumbled slightly beneath his fingers, crumbs littering his lap as he took a bite, and he couldn’t stop the groan of delight-and surprise-from escaping his lips. Eyes widening, he met Castiel’s gaze.
“This is really good.”
Castiel looked smug.
“No, I mean seriously-this is really good, Cas,” Jared repeated, popping the rest into his mouth. He paused, chewing slowly, relishing the sweet, chocolaty taste, and then his hand immediately flew out for a second-he ate that one and then the one after, and he was well on his way to eating the one after that, when Castiel slapped his hand, scolding him,
“You haven’t had anything else to eat.”
“I don’t need anything else to eat.”
“You can’t just eat brownies,” Castiel sniffed. “It’s not healthy.”
“What are you, my mother?”
“Actually, I was thinking you two are more like a married couple,” Jensen cut across from the doorway-unbeknownst to the two, he’d slipped into the apartment somewhere during the middle of their little bicker, and now he was leaning against the doorframe, eyebrow raised, a smirk plastered across his face. His gaze flicked from the table of cakes and treats, to Castiel, and then to Jared, and then that smirk grew. It widened, stretching across his face, oddly pleased with himself as he said, “I passed that old woman who lives next door when I was coming up here-I don’t know, she must have seen me around, because she stopped me and told me something. D’you want to know what she said?”
“Not really,” Jared muttered.
Castiel seemed intrigued.
“Rhetorical question,” Jensen flapped a hand, “I’m telling you anyway. She said, ‘what a lovely couple’.”
He let the statement hang in the air, heavy, layered with double-meanings that Castiel obviously didn’t understand, judging from the bemused expression on his face, but Jared couldn’t quite miss. He shot Jensen a glare, but his friend had the nerve to just look even more self-satisfied, as if he’d just unveiled something major, something huge, and Jared should be grateful for his input.
He most certainly wasn’t grateful.
“I do not understand,” Castiel said, brow furrowing.
“How did you even get in here?”
Jensen gestured towards the front door, shrugging. “You left the door unlocked. Dude, its movie night, anyway-you asked me to come round, so I did. Don’t worry, though, I come bearing popcorn, Quentin Tarantino movies and beer,” he paused then, raising his eyebrow at the collection of cakes, “Not that we’re going to be needing the popcorn, I guess. I didn’t realise Willy Wonka lived here.”
“He has a chocolate factory, Jen,” Jared scowled.
“He’s fictional, Jay.”
“Sacrilege!”
“Yeah, whatever,” Jensen rolled his eyes, before gesturing to Castiel, “C’mon, bird-boy-I’m going to introduce you to the Godly creation that is Quentin Tarantino.”
In the end, they didn’t actually watch any Tarantino-Jared had been all for Kill Bill, because that was classic, but Jensen has waved a hand, saying, “Dude, we always watch Kill Bill.”
They skipped past another couple of Tarantino films, because Jared and Jensen had already watched them copious amounts of times, and Castiel sat on the sofa, watching with detached interest. He’d already backed out of helping pick a film, due to the fact that he hadn’t actually really seen many films of his own, and so it had been left to Jared and Jensen.
After arguing for about half an hour about an old Western classic Jensen wanted to watch and a kid’s film Jared wanted to watch-“Dude, you can’t go wrong with The Incredibles!” vs “Yeah, but you can’t fall to Earth and not watch some Clint Eastwood.”-they’d settled on a film neither of them particularly wanted to watch. Wanted sat at the back of Jared’s DVD collection, unopened; his brother had bought it for him last Christmas, claiming that it had the most awesome naked Angelina Jolie scene in it ever, and so they picked that.
In reality, it was filled with just enough action and just enough Angelina Jolie to leave Jared with a somewhat pleasant buzz-or maybe that was just the beer he was drinking, but, nonetheless, it didn’t entirely stick in his head. He found himself getting a little lost in all of the technicalities of the film, but that was nothing compared to Jensen, who had a tendency to overanalyse practically every single move the characters made. That was great when they were watching television shows together, or when they were acting-when Jared actually began to care about the characters-but during a film like that one it wasn’t anywhere nearly as cute. Sitting on the floor with his legs sticking out in front of him, Jensen pointed out practically every single plot flaw while commenting, somewhat absent-mindedly, on the directing.
Even so, it was a pretty good film. He’d quite enjoyed James McAvoy’s character; he’d just felt like your average guy, even when all of the violence and superpowers and great responsibility was shoved onto his shoulders-he’d been relatable, and, from an acting point of view, that was probably the one thing you needed your character to be. If people could relate to them-if people felt as though the characters were on their side, standing for something they believed in-the character was going to be liked. And sure, while that could just be a nice little side effect for films, it was absolutely necessary in television shows.
He rolled his eyes at that.
While Jensen had a tendency to overanalyse the characters, Jared did pretty much the same thing with the acting.
It wasn’t that he was nitpicking-it was more like he was taking notes. Doing Supernatural, he’d become aware of the fact that he wasn’t the strongest actor; working beside Jensen, that much was apparent, especially to him. He’d been working on it, though, watching over television shows, scanning his own acting, noting every single emotion he could use in his work. He wanted to become better, and if that meant he started reading into the movements an actor made a little too much, then he was fine with that.
Besides, he was able to shut himself down to watch certain genres of film-namely horror movies and children’s films-and hey, who needed anything more than that?
Despite that, the best thing about the entire film was Castiel.
He spent the majority of his time tucked in against Jared’s side, watching the film with wide eyes and rapt attention; it was weird how easily they seemed to fit together, though, Jared’s head coming to rest against Castiel’s shoulder as he slowly grew more and more disinterested in the film. It was much more amusing watching the angel. He watched with fascination, drinking in every twist, every new discovery-he audibly gasped when James McAvoy’s character pulled a Luke Skywalker, and suddenly the guy he’d just killed was his father. And while Jensen snorted, rolling his eyes and saying, “Thank God for Angelina Jolie-I mean, who actually didn’t see that coming?”, Castiel just looked incredibly shocked.
It was brilliant.
The angel was probably the best example of an audience Jared had ever seen. He was quiet, he watched carefully and he let himself get caught up in the excitement-he blurred the lines between reality and the world he was watching on the television screen. That probably had something to do with the fact that Jared’s world wasn’t his reality-for Castiel, Jared’s everyday life was like something out of a film, and he’d let himself get caught up in that quickly enough.
Whatever it was, the angel was obviously enjoying himself.
His beer was untouched, unopened, sitting on the floor in front of them, and, when the end of the film came, he was practically folded in against Jared’s side. Jared brushed a few strands of hair away from his face, eyes fond as looked down at the angel; as the credits rolled, he barely even noticed Jensen twisting round to face him, mouth opening to make some snarky comment about the ending of the film-it closed just as quickly, and when Jared finally did look up, Jensen was raising an eyebrow pointedly at him.
He felt his cheeks flush almost immediately, as he snapped, “What?”
“Nothing, man.”
He watched as Jensen stood up, rolling his shoulders to get rid of any kinks, saying, “Well, I’m going to get another drink and then I’ll probably head off. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of you two lovebirds-I feel like a fucking third wheel.”
Jared flipped him off as he passed, scowling as Jensen’s features broadened into a pleased grin-his friend just shook his head, disappearing into the kitchen whereupon he began to make as much noise as possible, searching for alcohol. Jared, in turn, glanced down at the top of Castiel’s head, frowning slightly as he considered Jensen’s words. It wasn’t that he believed there was an ounce of truth in them, because Jared tended to be a clingy guy; he was touchy-feely, all hugs and playful punches-he’d pretty much always been that way, but only ever with his close friends. Hell, he gave Jensen hugs practically all the time.
So there was no way Jensen could be right.
None.
Zip.
Nada.
Except-
Except-
Jared ran his free hand through his hair, groaned softly, and decided it’d probably be better off if he stopped thinking altogether. He could deal with these problems when he wasn’t feeling so snug, warm and comfortable; it’d be easier that way. His head would be clearer. He wouldn’t be distracted by the lithe body pressed against his side, tucked neatly beneath his arm, slotting into place like two pieces of a jigsaw; he wouldn’t be distracted by the hair that feathered against his chin whenever the angel shifted. He wouldn’t be distracted by the sound of soft, calm breathing so close.
He closed his eyes.
God, he was so screwed.
so get out, get out, get out of my head
and fall into my arms instead
i don't
i don't know what it is
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