Fic: Position of Authority

[brightly_lit]

Title: Position of Authority
Author: brightly_lit
Rating: R
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Characters: Dean, Cas, Sam
Genre: romance, angst
Word Count: 10,300
Summary: College professor Dean tries to convince himself his tender feelings for his student Cas are only as teacher and mentor, especially when he finds out Cas comes from a sheltered Amish background. But Sam's ornery machinations to get them together have more results than he even intended.

This was written as a pinch hit for spn_reversebang for remivel's prompt. Here is the link to her art masterpost. This is truly a collaborative effort, thanks to remivel's great art and prompt, and also due to the contributions septembers_coda made, not only betaing but also helping me write the latter half. (If it weren't for her, I doubt Dean and Cas would ever have made it to the bedroom, since porn is not my forte!) They deserve at least as much credit for this fic as I do. Hope you enjoy!





“What the hell are you doin’ up so early?” Dean growled over his coffee, irked by Sam’s titter as he walked into the kitchen in thin sweats and a henley.

“... Asks the guy who got up an hour ago? Nice pants, by the way.”

“They’re required!” Dean barked. “I have to get up this early. What’s your excuse?”

“I like getting up early,” Sam shrugged, rooting around in the fridge. He took something out, made a face, put it back. Took something else, made a worse face, put it back. Took something else out--

Dean grabbed it out of his hand and dug in.

Sam deflated. “That was the only thing that looked edible,” Sam said mournfully. He sadly watched Dean eat for a minute, then went back to rummaging. “Seriously, Dean, Mom and I always thought you’d end up working at Wal-Mart. How the hell did you get a job teaching mechanical engineering at a ... well ... reasonably respectable university?”

“What?” Dean said, mouth full. “It’s not that hard. Teaching it is like being a mechanic, only easier, because you don’t even have to do anything, you just talk about it. It’s not rocket science.” He shrugged.

Sam emerged from the fridge, closely inspecting some cold pizza, and opened the Ziploc, sniffing suspiciously. “Actually, I’m pretty sure mechanical engineering is a big part of rocket science.”

“Wouldn’t eat that,” Dean told him gruffly, grabbing it out of his hand and tossing it in the trash. Sam deflated again. “Seriously. I don’t even remember when I got that.”

“Guess I know what I’ll be doing today,” Sam sighed, getting out a piece of paper and starting a grocery list.

“Don’t forget the beer,” Dean said, watching him write over his shoulder. “Get some chips, too. And could you get those little finger sausages? Not Pepperidge Farm; get the good stuff ....”

“Mr. Winchester?”

Dean turned around, knowing already who spoke, though after a few semesters of teaching, the students all started to seem pretty much the same, especially since most of them dropped out of engineering school before they got to one of his upper-level classes. Apparently people found the subject hard, which Dean didn’t get. He’d thought he’d end up at Wal-Mart, too, but he gave college a go since Mom and Dad said they’d pay for his first year, took his first engineering class on a bet, and found he had a knack for it. Now Mom explained to bewildered friends and extended family members that the reason Dean had done badly in high school was because he was bored. Dean laughed whenever she said it. More like the opposite sex had him so distracted he couldn’t keep his head on straight, then when he discovered he liked the same sex, too ....

There was no way to forget this particular student, though. Dean often heard his colleagues snickering about him in the department offices. Even now, a lot of the other kids exchanged smirks. He called himself “Castiel.” Right now, he was dressed in suspenders holding up neatly pressed red dress pants over a bright white shirt that had romance-era ruffles at the collar and sleeves. As Dean approached to answer his question, he caught sight of his shoes, which didn’t lace or Velcro, but rather, buttoned. Buttoned! Dean gave a happy sigh. This was the best class of the day.

“Yeah, Cas?” he said, leaning over him to get a look at Cas’s note paper, always filled with copious, orderly notes in his anachronistic handwriting. He smelled like rare wood and Christmas spice today. Dean took a surreptitious sniff. Was that some kind of perfume, or did the guy just come into this world smelling like that? He smelled different every day.

“I can’t get my equations to balance!”

This was a rarity. Cas was his best student, which was another thing Dean liked about him. Now that Dean knew the joy of having a good student, he felt bad for being such a crappy one in high school. His teachers must have dreaded having him in their classes. He would have.

Dean looked over his math and quickly found the error, pointing it out to him, loving the “aha!” look on his face, the pleasure of comprehension. He was the only student Dean had ever had who seemed to feel the same way about mechanical engineering Dean did, the only one who loved the way it made everything make sense. The way you could use it to, theoretically, at least, make anything work. Anything.

Cas looked up into his face with an unself-conscious grin the rest of his students would have thought they were too cool for, and Dean couldn’t help but grin back. He patted his shoulder. “Got it now?” Cas nodded and went back to work as Dean looked around the room to see if anyone else needed his help. No one else needed his help--or rather, probably someone did but was too embarrassed to admit it--but Dean saw something unexpected: his brother, standing by the door, eyeing him with eyebrow raised. Dean snatched his hand off Cas’s shoulder and booked it to the front of the room. “What are you doing here?” he demanded in a whisper.

“It’s your last class of the day, right? I thought we could hit the bar ... unless you have other plans,” he murmured with a smirk, glancing in Cas’s direction.

“Sammy, it’s been a long time since I knocked you out, but that doesn’t mean I won’t,” he whispered.

Sam looked even more smug. “Defensive much? It’s college; he’s gotta be legal, right?” Sam burst out with a quiet guffaw, eyes widening. “Holy crap, you’re beet red.”

“Dammit, Sam--I could get fired!” The whole conversation had transpired at a whisper, but still, they were beginning to attraction the attention of the students.

Sam made that sympathetic face at him, and Dean’s hand automatically formed a fist. Bad form to commit violence in front of your students, Dean reminded himself, telling himself that was what stopped him, rather than the thought of how shocked and scared Cas would be to see that side of him. There were lots of sides of him that would probably scare Cas.

“Get out of here before I do something else that could get me fired,” Dean growled, and turned back to his students to explain the homework. He couldn’t stop thinking about Sam saying he was red. He wondered if he was red now. As his eyes passed across all the faces, catching sight of Cas’s calm, attentive one made him stutter and lose his train of thought (was that a soft snicker he heard out of Sam behind him?), so he worked hard to keep his gaze far from Cas’s part of the room until he was done, upon which he dismissed class five minutes early. He never let them out early. He liked to make them all stay the whole time in an attempt to force them to love mechanical engineering properly.

As all the students filed out, Dean turned to see that Sam was still standing there just inside the door. Sam went to the trouble of smiling and nodding at Cas as he passed him. Dean made a lot of silent glaring threats; Sam just smiled, knowing he couldn’t deliver on them just yet. From the look on Sam’s face, Dean knew if he gave him the smallest opportunity, the second the students were gone he would keep running his mouth about everything he shouldn’t, so he grabbed his jacket, then Sam’s arm, and hustled him out as the last student left the classroom.



“Bummer,” Sam said at the bar. “Fired, really?”

“Yes! But believe it or not, taking advantage of my position of authority isn’t big on my wish list.”

Sam laughed, then realized he was serious. “My God, what’s happened to you?” Sam asked with mock horror. “Are you sure you’re my brother??”

“Sam!” Dean growled. It was no use; Sam kept chortling mercilessly. Dean was out of practice at pranking his little brother, obviously--a skill which came as naturally as breathing to Sam, once he put his mind to it. Dean had always had to work at it. “I’ve never even had a position of authority to abuse before!”

Sam sprawled across the bar, giggling helplessly. Ah, so that was it: he was already drunk. Get two beers in the kid and he was under the table. “Now’s your chance,” he said irrepressibly.

“I am not taking advantage of Cas,” Dean brooded, sipping his beer contemplatively, and not liking any of the paths Sam’s encouragement was taking those thoughts down. “Kid’s gotta be a virgin.”

“I like the way he dresses,” Sam noted, studiously mixing peanut sugar and spilled beer and drawing designs on the bar with them. “I haven’t seen a getup like that since 1872.”

“How old were you then?” Dean teased, but his heart wasn’t in it. It’s not like he hadn’t had fantasies of befriending Cas, which sometimes went farther than mere friendship, but he’d been secure in the certainty that they would remain locked up tight in the dark recesses of his own mind, never to see the light of day. Then his brother showed up and read it all in an instant like he was reading it off a ticker tape. “How did you know, anyway?” he asked, troubled.

“Well,” Sam said, struggling upright again, “I went to Stanford for four years, and none of my teachers was ever that eager to ‘help’ me, bending over me, smelling my hair, lingeringly touching my shoulder ....”

Dean scowled. “I’m just-- He’s just-- Kid needs my help, all right?! He’s the only one who’s even interested in getting my help! The only one who likes engineering. He’s a good student and I’m a good teacher and that’s all there is to it!” Sam was in hysterics. Dean got up abruptly, throwing money on the bar. “I’m taking you home, lightweight.”

As Dean yanked Sam’s boots off back at his house, Sam--slightly more sober now, lying limply on the guest bed--said, “Well, maybe you aren’t allowed to do more, but you’re allowed to be his friend. One of my teachers at Stanford was my friend, and ... it was great. He let me come over to his house on holidays I didn’t go home for, and we had movie nights with his wife and kids; stuff like that. I’m not sure if I would have made it through the first year if ... if it hadn’t been for him.” Sam rolled over, grabbed a pillow, promptly bent it in half and hugged it tight, and went to sleep as Dean stood there over him, those words echoing in his head.

“So, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Dean asked Cas casually as Cas gathered up his books. Cas smelled like pumpkin spice and citrus today. Cas was there for his office hours, every week, asking questions, presenting hypotheticals to get Dean’s take on them, suggesting practical applications. Turned out Cas’s interest in mechanical engineering went beyond the theoretical, as today he’d brought a small mechanized toy car he’d made to give one of his younger siblings for Christmas, asking Dean for his ideas to improve it.

Cas looked startled for a moment, those blue eyes shockingly bright in the light from the window behind Dean, then awkward. “Oh, um ... I think I’ll study. For your course, mainly,” he added. Any other student, Dean would have been sure he was just brown-nosing, but with Cas, it was probably the truth.

Dean frowned. “Aren’t you going home to be with your family?”

“No, um, uh ... no. Um ... but you are?”

“Well ... no. Usually I do, but our parents are in the tropics until Christmas, so my brother came to stay with me instead. We’ll just have Thanksgiving ourselves, if either one of us can figure out how to cook a turkey.” He gave a lopsided smirk.

“It’s not hard!” Cas said eagerly, then quickly subsided, as if afraid he’d overstepped his bounds. “Um, that is ... I could give you tips, if you like.”

Sam’s words about teachers and friendship rang in Dean’s ears. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Well, maybe you could join us. Two guys and one turkey is pretty sad. Not that we couldn’t finish it off between the two of us, but we’d probably burn it.” Dean felt the blush crawling up his cheeks to his ears. He was mortified at the thought of Cas noticing ... but then he saw that Cas was blushing, too. He quirked his head curiously. Why was Cas blushing?

“That would be nice, if I wouldn’t be imposing,” Cas said softly.

“No!” Dean insisted, way too eagerly. “It’d be great to have y--uh, another person. Really great. Plus, you know how to cook, sounds like ....”

“I do know how to cook,” Cas acknowledged brightly. “That would be nice. Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean scowled. “Call me Dean. Everybody else does.” It was true; all his students called him Dean ... except Cas, and he even called Cas by a nickname he’d come up with himself.

“Okay ... ‘Dean.’” It sounded even more awkward coming out of Cas’s mouth than ‘Mr. Winchester.’ Awkwardness usually irritated Dean, so why did he find it so charming in Cas? Dean gave him the time and place, and told himself the reason he walked on clouds for the rest of the day was after-effects of last night’s drinking.

Dean had never considered clearing all alcohol out of the house a part of Thanksgiving preparations, but it was this time, lest Sam get drunk and blurt out something he shouldn’t. Dean didn’t allow himself to think about why he might want to keep all alcohol away from himself, too, because it wasn’t like that, it wasn’t. Cas was coming over as his student, as a friend. It would be nice to have the company; that was all.

Cas was there at exactly two. He came bearing a pie and some sweet-potato casserole. Dean could have kissed him right then and there. Dean put the pie in the middle of his kitchen table as a centerpiece, then made Sam get out some candles, because it had suddenly become truly a special occasion. Pie! Cas could make pie! With that the crush he’d been squelching all semester was fast blossoming into full-blown infatuation in his belly, at the worst possible moment.

Dean knew he fawned over the pie and the casserole way more than was appropriate, but another wonderful thing about Cas was that he never noticed if you were acting weird or awkward or outside of social norms; Cas only seemed delighted by all the attention. If only Sam weren’t smirking so annoyingly as he watched the goings-on, leaning against the doorway, this would already be the best Thanksgiving of Dean’s life, and Thanksgiving had always been Dean’s favorite holiday.

Dean turned their attention immediately to the turkey, which Cas expertly prepared and had in the oven within half an hour, filled with two kinds of stuffing. In fact, he was so competent at this, finally Dean realized he was hindering more than helping and retreated to a barstool at the kitchen counter to watch with awe. Sam came to join him on another barstool. They exchanged a look--even Sam was impressed ... as well as aware of the effect this must be having on Dean, but Dean ignored that part.

Sam cleared his throat. “So, um, Cas, where’d you learn how to do all this?”

“My family. We’re Amish. I’ve been helping cook home-grown food since I could walk.”

“Wow. I like to cook, but ... you know way more than I do,” said Sam. “How old are you, anyway?” Dean kicked Sam under the table, who kicked him back.

“Twenty-one.” Cas’s back turned, Sam nodded at Dean, making that face that looked like a frown but actually denoted something positive.

“Twenty-one, huh,” Sam went on. “So you must be about finished with college, then,” he said, grinning, skillfully evading another kick from Dean.

“No,” said Cas. Was it Dean’s imagination, or did his voice suddenly grow more subdued? “I only started this year. I started late,” he said sheepishly, turning to smile awkwardly at them, upon which they quickly left off their surreptitious wrestling match and sat up, nodding with interest.

When Cas turned away again, Dean couldn’t help asking, “How come?”

“Um ....” Cas clearly didn’t want to answer, but he felt compelled to. Dean was just about to tell him he didn’t have to when he said, “My coming to college wasn’t ... a popular decision with my family. I had to work for a few years before I had enough money to get out here and begin. I’ll still have loans to pay off, though,” he sighed.

Sam was making more faces at him, but Dean was suddenly intently focused on Cas. “Not a popular decision? What do you mean?”

Cas diffidently kept his back to them, working, though suddenly he didn’t seem to be accomplishing much. “I was supposed to stay and help at home, not think so well of myself as to ... I mean ... basically they feel I shunned all our beliefs and our way of life. I didn’t mean to, though, I just love engineering, and I felt that was what I was meant to do.”

Dean was on his feet, a comforting hand on Cas’s arm, before he even realized what he was doing. “You’re a genius at engineering,” Dean said. Sam’s face registered shock at Dean’s praise, because he knew well that getting praise out of Dean was nigh impossible. “This was the right thing for you, I don’t have any doubt about that. Hopefully your family will come to see that, too.”

Those blue eyes traveled up to meet Dean’s, and in that moment, Dean fell in love. He sighed even as his heart took flight, because he was lost in those eyes, in that gentle smile, that soft, “Thanks, Mr. Winchester,” because he knew that now, his heart belonged to this naïve young man he could never have.

He cleared his throat. Now, with Cas staring at him so trustingly, and Sam smirking and trying to catch his eye, was not the time. He couldn’t afford to let any of this show.

He returned to his seat, “accidentally” kicking Sam’s barstool as he walked past, so Sam’s legs came uncrossed awkwardly and he had to catch himself on the counter. “Whoops,” Dean breathed menacingly, sitting down.

“When someone comes over for Thanksgiving dinner--scratch that. When someone makes me Thanksgiving dinner, we’re usually on a first-name basis, Cas. Call me Dean.”

He gave Cas his most charming smile. Perhaps it had more heat in it than he intended, because Cas flushed and looked down. “Yes, Dean,” he said softly, with only a slight hesitation that Dean could have sworn made the temperature in the room go up by about 10 degrees.

“You’re not on a first-name basis with Mom,” Sam observed, standing up. He produced a corkscrew from a drawer and opened a bottle of wine.

“Come on, Sam. To us, Mom is her first name. Hey!” He added this last before he could stop himself, then covered his mouth. He tried to turn it into a more natural gesture, rubbing his face as he glanced sidelong at Cas, saw that he wasn’t looking, then glared daggers at Sam.

“I noticed you ‘forgot’ to pick up some wine, so I stopped by the liquor store on my way home,” Sam said casually, giving Dean a sweet smile. “I figured we could all stand to relax a little. Cas?” Sam offered, opening it, but Cas shook his head. Sam smirked evilly at Dean. “Brother?”

Just one glass could only help subdue the feelings he couldn’t seem to hide, and he nodded at Sam warily. “But just one.”

“That’ll be a first,” Sam murmured, pouring them each a glass.

Dean ignored him, turning back to Cas. “No booze, eh?”

“My family doesn’t really ... believe in that,” he said awkwardly.

“Were you living here on campus when you turned 21, Cas?” he asked.

“Yes. My birthday was just after classes started,” Cas replied.

“How did you spend it? Did you celebrate?” Dean was trying to remember if he’d seen Cas with anyone on campus, if he had any friends. He frowned when all he could remember was people looking at Cas sidelong and snickering behind their hands.

“Uh ... no ... I think I was helping my roommate move.”

“And he didn’t buy you a beer afterwards? Didn’t you tell him it was your birthday?”

Cas looked confused for a moment, then shook his head. When Dean raised his eyebrow in query, Cas said. “Uh, we don’t really talk. I helped him move out, to a room on the second floor.”

Suddenly Dean understood. He thought Cas had been helping his roommate move in. Instead, it seemed the guy had moved in at the start of the semester, lived with Cas for a few days, then promptly decided he couldn’t deal with the weird Amish dude and moved out. Dean’s heart hurt for the poor kid. As the wine warmed his belly, he thought how right Sam had been to suggest he befriend Cas. This was what teachers were for after all, right? Friends, mentors, helpers. He could be a friend to Cas until he found his feet socially. Heck, Dean himself had had a few lonely nights his freshman year, before he found some good friends. He poured himself another glass.

“Well, then you’ve missed out on the grand American tradition of your first legal drink,” said Dean, smiling. It was time to lighten this conversation up. “How about we celebrate now? Good food, good wine, good company .... Sorry it’s a little late, is all.” He delighted to see Cas’s eyes light up.

“I ... wouldn’t mind trying it once,” he admitted shyly. “I mean, I’m on rumspringa. I’m allowed to do this kind of thing now.”

It was the best Thanksgiving meal Dean had ever had. Mom was a great cook, but this was extraordinary. The turkey and stuffing were out of this world. Dean had never been a big fan of sweet potato casserole--once upon a time, Dean would have thought marshmallows made anything better, but marshmallows with potatoes just seemed weird--but Cas’s was different: no marshmallows and not sweet, but delicately delicious. And the pie ... it wasn’t better than sex; knowing Cas baked it made it practically exactly like sex. Sam was equally appreciative, and Cas basked in the praise.

“Well,” said Sam too loudly, “I’m gonna go have my turkey nap.” He stretched, patted his belly, and pushed back from the table, grinning shamelessly at Dean.

“More like a wine nap,” Dean muttered. Alone with Cas. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea .... Dean shook it off. Just friends. That was all.

“I’ll wash if you dry,” Cas said cheerfully, collecting plates, and Dean was relieved. Just friends.

Dean obligingly grabbed a dishtowel and stood beside him in the small kitchen. So close. Almost his own height, a little bit shorter--just right for kissing. It would be so easy to take Cas’s chin in his hand, tilt his head back, and lean in .... Dean’s heart sped up as he took a glass from him, let their fingers brush lingeringly, and this close, he thought Cas must be able to feel it. He let his hip touch Cas’s, turned his face toward his ....

“Oops, there are still two glasses on the table,” Cas said--nervously?--going back for them.

Dean took a deep, steadying breath. He had to keep it together. He shouldn’t have had that last glass of wine.

“Why am I letting you work? You’re a guest, and you did most of the cooking, anyway. Sam ’n’ I’ll clean up later. Let’s just relax awhile ... c’mon, you hardly touched your wine.”

He led the way across the hall to the den, Cas following. Dean grabbed a coaster and plopped it on the coffee table--not that he cared about rings on the table, but this would make Cas sit where he wanted him, on the couch, where Dean could slide in right next to him.

It worked. Dean sat down, exaggerating the motion enough to cover up how close he got to Cas, and acting as if he didn’t notice and was just excessively comfortable where he was. Cas eyed him sidelong but didn’t say anything as he fidgeted nervously with his wine glass.

“Do you like it?” Dean asked. He let his legs fall open, mock-casually, so that his knee brushed Cas’s.

“Um ... not really,” Cas giggled apologetically. Dean saw his eyes travel down to where their legs touched and catch there. Dean couldn’t remember ever working this hard not to kiss someone. Every moment he wanted to; everything little thing Cas did made him that much more kissable ....

“So this is your first wine ever?” So unworldly.

As Cas leaned forward to set his wine glass down, Dean took the opportunity to slip his arm casually along the back of the couch, so that when Cas sat back, his arm was almost around him. Dean smiled to himself. So high school.

“Yes. My parents were ... very strict, even for our community. Other teens were allowed to sample wine at celebrations, but my mother ....”

He paused. Dean had very lightly, casually settled his arm over his shoulder; fingers barely brushing Cas’s collarbone, moving his shirt collar aside, fingertips a whisper against bare skin.

He felt Cas shiver. Dean took in a slow breath, consumed with desire. What was wrong with him? He could barely think.

“Your mom?” he prompted, closing his arm around Cas, inching just a touch sideways so their hips were touching.

“She ... she ....” Dean smiled. Cas was clearly affected. This close, Dean could smell him again, a soft, heated musk, like spicy sandalwood. He felt the warmth rising from his skin, could feel a thrumming vibration in his body he was sure meant desire, desire that Dean desperately wanted to fulfill.

Cas swallowed and continued in a slightly husky voice, “She didn’t hold with alcohol at all. It ... was part of the reason she was so opposed to my coming here,” he managed.

“Good for you, for choosing your own path,” Dean declared, putting his other arm around Cas and turning to face him. Cas’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move away. “I’m glad you came to college, glad you’re in my class, and glad you came here, tonight.” Finally, unable to resist any longer, he cupped Cas’s jaw in his hand, lifted his face to his, and kissed him.

Dean was swept away. Cas was yielding, hesitant, unbearably sweet--Dean felt the soft surprise, as if Cas had imagined such a thing, or maybe just sensed it coming, but still couldn’t believe it happened; then the warmly willing, devastatingly innocent response. Dean paused, caressing Cas’s face, gazing into the blue eyes that opened slowly when he broke the kiss, and he was so pierced by Cas’s devastating beauty, he moaned aloud. “God, Cas,” he whispered, bringing his lips to his again, “you’re so beautiful. So beautiful it hurts.” Cas’s shy answering smile shot right into his heart.

Dean’s passion broke open like a dam inside him. He moaned helplessly into Cas’s mouth, scrabbled desperately to bring him closer, kissed him hard and deep. He noticed only dimly when Cas went still in his arms. He chalked it up to willing surrender; instead of stopping, he straddled him, seized his face in both hands and kissed him again, forcing his lips open with his, and when Cas gasped into his mouth, he moaned and thrust his tongue in, desperate to taste him.

Dean pressed their bodies together, kissing Cas more and more frantically, until it came to him, distantly, that Cas was ... struggling?

He stopped abruptly, looked blearily at Cas’s face; Cas broke free, retreating as far as the couch would allow. “M--Mr. Winchester!” he stuttered, and Dean’s heart plummeted--Cas looked terrified, horrified even, and utterly confused.

Dean flinched back. “Cas, I’m sorry!” he said desperately, as Cas stumbled to his feet.

“No, it’s ... it must be my fault. I’m sorry,” Cas gasped, his eyes huge, trembling hands yanking his disheveled clothing back into place. His eyes roved frantically around the room, searching for the front door.

Dean scrambled to his feet. “Cas, no, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have--I knew I shouldn’t have. Come on, let’s talk about this--” He moved toward Cas, hand stretched out entreatingly.

Cas, looking as panicked as Dean had ever seen anyone look, recoiled violently from Dean’s touch, half tripping over an end table and righting himself clumsily. To Dean’s horror, Cas attempted a polite smile; it looked like a death grimace. “Thank you for your hospitality. Please thank Sam for me as well. I’m sorry, Mr. Winchester,” he said, then turned and fled.

Dean had never felt like such an asshole in his entire life. He could hardly sleep, consumed with guilt. He caved on Sunday and looked Cas up in the student directory, feeling like a stalker. He was afraid calling him would only make things worse, but there was no answer when he called Cas’s dorm room, anyway.

Oh, Cas. The look on his face after Dean had crawled all over him was seared into Dean’s brain. He wished he could punch himself, the way he’d punch someone else he caught doing what he’d done to Cas.

Sam knew something was wrong. Finally Dean told him everything, and he knew how bad he’d fucked up when Sam actually seemed shocked. He even apologized for buying the wine and encouraging Dean to go for it. For once, Dean felt worse after talking to him rather than better.

He would just talk to him in class, try to explain himself, apologize. Maybe after a few classes, things would go back to normal ... but Cas wasn’t in class Monday. He’d never missed a class--hell, he’d never even missed Dean’s office hours. Maybe Cas had told the dean and Dean would lose his job. He’d deserve it, Dean figured. Maybe he should resign now, get it over with.

By Friday, Dean’s fear had been replaced with a deep self-loathing. He realized gradually that, as absurd as it seemed, he was also heartbroken. He missed Cas every time he taught a class, even the ones Cas hadn’t been in.

The ones he had been in were worse. At the last of these on Friday, he glanced up from where he’d been gazing sadly at Cas’s old seat just in time to see the door at the back of the auditorium open, ten minutes after class started. He stuttered in the middle of his lecture. It was Cas! He slipped in and sat in the very back row, hunched over, not looking at him.

Dean barely managed to pull himself together enough to finish his lecture. He would catch Cas after class and apologize. He’d keep it simple and promise never to bother Cas again, reassure him that they could just have a working relationship. As he tried not to stare at Cas, working earnestly, head down, some of the sick weight that had plagued Dean all week lifted--

--only to return when Cas slipped out the back door again before he’d even stopped lecturing. Dean sighed. At least Cas was all right, back in class, and as much as it hurt, it made sense that Cas was avoiding him entirely. Dean knew that his need to apologize could be considered selfish. It wasn’t Cas’s responsibility to ease Dean’s guilt.

Over the next two weeks, Dean tried, unsuccessfully, to put it out of his mind. Every day, Cas came to class five or ten minutes late and left before the end. His work suffered a little, and his final exam score was lower than Dean expected, but he was still the best student in the class.

On the last day of classes, no one came to Dean’s office hours. The campus was mostly deserted. Dean was pretty sure he was the only faculty member still here, but he couldn’t face going home. He sat in his office, staring out the window as the light faded. Darkness came early with the gathering snow, which had started falling thick and fast. A white Christmas. Yay.

He saw a figure, trundling slowly under the lights in the courtyard. He squinted, and saw that the person was pulling ... a wagon? His heart lurched when he saw the figure’s clothing--a bulky, mustard-yellow cardigan and knickers that left several inches of calf bare above black button-up shoes.

Dean didn’t give himself a chance to think. He grabbed his leather jacket and ran down the stairs, out into the courtyard.

“Cas!” he yelled. If he thought his heart couldn’t get any more broken, he was wrong--the look of panic on Cas’s face as he tried to turn his wagon in the deepening snow to go back the opposite direction stabbed him through the heart. Dean stopped where he was, staring helplessly.

He forced himself to speak before it was too late. “I just wanted to say how sorry I am, Cas,” he said, raising his voice over the rising wind. “I betrayed your trust, man. I --” He stopped, tilting his head curiously. “What are you doing?” The question was out before he could stop it, but the answer came to him in a rush of horror. The wagon was full of the kind of crap kids packed their dorm rooms with, just lots less of it. Still, undeniably, not the kind of thing you took out of your room once it was safely ensconced there, unless ....

“You’re leaving school?!”

Cas stopped struggling with the wagon and looked up at Dean. “Yes, Mr. Winchester. I realized I don’t belong here, so I’m ... finally doing the right thing and going home.”

“What’re you talking about? You belong here more than any of these other kids. At least you understand what’s going on in your classes. Is it ....” A horrible thought was dawning on Dean. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? Knowing you’d have to have me for other classes?” Cold swept through Dean. “Oh, my God. Oh, Cas, come on. I’m sure we could work something out. I’ll make sure you can graduate without having to see me. And if not, if the only way you’ll feel safe is for me to resign, I can do that. Just say the word.”

“Oh, my goodness, you mustn’t do that!” Cas exclaimed, dropping the wagon’s handle. Even now, a smile quirked Dean’s lips at the dainty way Cas talked. “No, you’re such a good teacher! You belong here, but I ... with you ... I caused harm.” Dean saw Cas frantically blink back tears, and he couldn’t help but clasp Cas’s shoulder.

“What harm? What are you talking about?” He peered at Cas’s troubled face.

“I didn’t mean to,” Cas mumbled. “But that’s no excuse for leading you down the path of sin.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. He sputtered, unable to form comprehensible words.

“I didn’t mean to be ... provocative,” said Cas, eyes lowered. “But ... our deacon spoke to me, when he learned I was coming here. He took me aside after services, and he told me ....” Cas paused, gulping, and looked heavenward, as if for the strength to continue his confession. “He told me that my appearance could invite sin. We are taught to avoid vanity, so I never thought of myself this way, but he told me I might be considered ... comely, out in the greater world. He warned that even ... even men might look upon me with sin in their hearts. I ... I think he knew that I had that sin in me.” Cas bowed his head, flushing brightly. “I made you do something you otherwise never would. I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Dean’s mouth was still hanging open, his mind blank. It took a long time to get his brain working again, but seeing Cas bow further under his imagined shamefulness did the trick. “No, Cas,” he finally managed, shaking his shoulder gently. “You’ve got it all backwards. I know you don’t know me very well, but the, uh, path of sin? I’ve been all the way down that road, stayed at the resort, got the postcard and a commemorative plaque.”

He smiled tenderly into Cas’s puzzled face. Of course innocent Cas hadn’t understood a word. “You’re my student, you’re supposed to be able to trust me. I betrayed your trust,” he said. “That’s all on me. I was the one who made the move. But you’ve gotta know ... I’ve committed every, uh, ‘sin of the flesh’ that your church knows about, and plenty I’m sure they don’t, with both men and women. By the way, your deacon’s a dick.” Cas flinched, bewildered. “It doesn’t matter how ‘comely’ you are. None of this could ever be your fault.”

More tears kept squeezing out of Cas’s eyes. He wiped them away silently. Dean couldn’t bear it. He carefully put one arm around Cas’s shoulders, watching for any sign that Cas wanted to pull away. Instead, he buried his head in Dean’s shoulder and leaned on him, his posture so hopeless it cracked Dean’s heart.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said softly, folding Cas close. “You can’t leave, Cas. I swear I won’t ever do anything like that again.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Cas said, his voice muffled against Dean’s jacket. “I wanted you to kiss me, Dean. I wanted it so much.”

Dean’s heart soared at the words. A wave of relief so intense it was almost painful washed over him. The fact that it was the first time he’d ever used Dean’s first name without being prompted didn’t escape him, either. He squeezed Cas tightly. “I should have shown some restraint, though. I guess I’m just used to people who want to move fast. I’ve never known anyone like you.”

“I’m very unusual,” Cas murmured. He sounded ashamed. “People say so all the time here. Even back home, I’m not like anyone else.”

Dean grinned. “And that’s why I love you.” Cas looked up at him--startled, but happy. It was overpoweringly adorable. Dean took his face in his hands. “Love you so much, Cas,” he whispered, and kissed him, so gently, brushing his lips over his with careful, infinite tenderness. “That’s how I should’ve kissed you before,” he said, stroking his cheek softly with his thumb. “I’m sorry. Sorry that I scared you. I--”

“I love you too,” Cas said in a rush, and to Dean’s surprise, he reached again for Dean’s lips and kissed him, chastely but passionately. “I don’t want you to be sorry, and I don’t want to be sorry, and in my heart I don’t believe it’s sin, either. I just want to be with you. I can’t help it.”

Dean felt the guilt that had plagued him all these weeks finally seep out of him. He just stood there holding Cas, hoping no one recognized either of them there, right out in the open, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Just so long as he was square with Cas. It didn’t take him long to notice that Cas was shivering in his arms. Giving him one last squeeze, Dean said, “Hey, let’s get you back to your dorm.”

“I ... can’t,” he said, forehead creasing deeply with anxiety. “I already checked out of the dorm. I was going to spend the night at the bus station. The first bus doesn’t come until morning.”

Dean stroked his arm, agonized, his eyes falling to his clothes, insufficient for the weather. Cas really didn’t know the first thing about the outside world. “Stay at my place tonight--I have a pull-out bed in the den.” Dean added this last part hastily. “We can talk some more. And if after all that, you still want to go home, I’ll take you to the station.”



When they got home, Cas changed out of his wet clothes into what seemed to be one of his very few other outfits--the familiar ruffled shirt, suspenders and bright-red pants. Taking in his charmingly rumpled appearance as he dried his hair with the towel Dean handed him, Dean vowed to behave chastely. He wondered if he was the only person alive who would find Cas’s ‘ensemble’ sexy, but he did, just like his formal modes of speech and his naivete and his weird ideas about, well, pretty much everything. Cas’s every story, gesture, and mannerism was more precious than ever, knowing he might lose it all tomorrow.

Sam was surprised when he saw Cas come through the door, but he covered over it immediately with welcoming charm. His knowing glances over Cas’s head gradually turned warily observant, then downright worried. Sam must have figured out what Dean could no longer deny--that he was in love.

Dean had carefully seated himself at the other end of the couch from Cas with a nice, chaste distance between them, determined to keep his hands to himself, but Cas did not have the same constraint. Somehow he was closer every time Dean looked up, and he innocently touched Dean often as they chatted. By the time Sam tactfully excused himself and wished them goodnight, Cas sat hip-to-hip with him, arms brushing with every word and breath.

Dean hardly dared to breathe. He felt like he had lured a wild bird to perch on his hand, and feared that the slightest movement would scare it away. They talked, and Dean filled himself with Cas’s presence, until Cas yawned, suddenly and hugely, glanced across the room, and said, “Oh! I’ve never been up this late before!”

Dean glanced at the clock, then squinted. “It’s 10:30,” he said.

“I know! I’m always in bed by 9.” He yawned again.

Dean grinned and shook his head. “All right, then, let’s get you in bed.” He swallowed at his unfortunate phrasing. He clenched his jaw determinedly as he shooed Cas off the couch so he could pull out the fold-out bed, the mechanisms of which Cas observed with wonder, examining every joint and spring once Dean was done, lifting it up and slowly folding it in a little before straightening it out again. Dean just watched him for a minute from the doorway, trying to breathe over the love that choked him. An engineer. His engineer. He never thought engineering could be sexy, too, but Cas made everything seem sexy.

The woebegone image of Cas struggling through the snow with his wagon, planning to spend the night at the bus station in a blizzard, wouldn’t leave him while Cas was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, so he went to his linen closet, dragged out the warmest sheets and the fattest comforter he had, and made Cas’s bed for him.

Cas came out just then, and Dean did a double-take. He was wearing ... a nightgown. An honest-to-God, full-length, ‘Twas-the-Night-Before-Christmas nightshirt, light blue--fashionable, Dean would guess, around 1804. All that was missing was the long, pointed cap.

“Oh, that’s a nice comforter,” Cas said, oblivious to Dean’s incredulity. He felt the thickness of it and remarked upon it, using words like ‘weft’ and ‘batting’ and other things Dean had never heard of. “So warm! What did you make it out of?”

“Oh, I don’t ... sew. I just bought it.”

“Must have cost you quite a bit,” Cas went on, fondling it admiringly. Dean tried to remember where he got it. Clearance at Target, if he remembered correctly. “It’s really all right if I use your nicest comforter?”

Dean valiantly suppressed his grin. “For you, anything. Okay, to bed with you. ’Night, Cas. You think you’ll be warm enough in that?”

“I’m sure I will,” Cas answered, but Dean was assaulted by the memory of Cas’s bare calves in the snow again.

“Hang on,” Dean said, and went to the linen closet again. When he came back with another blanket--this one a fleece with a Heineken beer bottle emblazoned on it--Cas had already crawled in bed. “Here,” Dean said, piling the new blanket on. “Wait,” he said, grabbed an afghan that hung over the back of the easy chair, and tossed that over Cas too.

Cas giggled. “In the morning, you won’t be able to find me under all this,” he said.

“Oh, I’ll find you,” Dean muttered, then made himself turn away. “I’m right across the hall if you need anything,” he said, and beat it toward the bathroom.

“Good night,” Cas called softly after him.

Dean took as much time washing up as he could, dreading the moment when all there was to do was lie in bed and think of Cas, bare-legged in an easy-access ‘nightgown’ just across the hall, so innocent, so trusting .... Dean could walk twenty feet, sit down, get a load of his nightgown again, and they could be kissing in less than a minute--but no. No. If that happened, something else would happen, and he might scare the kid again. Would probably horrify him with the things Dean thought were normal that maybe Cas had never even heard of.

Dean forced himself to stop thinking about it. Cas might be leaving in the morning--well, actually, probably no buses were running, with all this snow, but still, he might be gone in a couple of days. Even if he wasn’t, Dean was in a position of authority over him. That was the whole reason for the rule, so Dean couldn’t take advantage of his naivete, only ... if he didn’t do it with Dean, he would just end up with someone else, maybe someone who didn’t love him. Someone who didn’t recognize how precious and vulnerable he was. Someone who might hurt him.

Dean sat on the edge of his bed and groaned, rubbing his face. He couldn’t think clearly, with Cas so close. Maybe he was just rationalizing his desire for him, but even though he knew it should be wrong, every single thing about being with Cas felt so right. He gave up and got in bed. Sure enough, all he could do was think about Cas. He’d never get to sleep this in love and this turned on, not for hours.

Not two minutes later, “Dean?”

Dean jumped at the soft voice coming from the doorway. He turned quickly onto his side, just to be sure he wasn’t tenting the covers. “Cas?” he managed to squeak. “You okay? Warm enough?”

“Yes, but I ....” Cas hesitated. He stepped farther into the room, surveying Dean’s bed with a proprietary interest. “It’s just--your bed seems roomy, and I--don’t want to be alone.”

Dean couldn’t speak. He tried to remind himself that this was reality and not his fantasy. “You want to sleep in here with me?” He winced at how husky his voice sounded.

“If it won’t bother you.”

‘Bother’ wasn’t the word Dean would choose. ‘Torture,’ maybe. But somehow he couldn’t say no to Cas. Dean girded his loins--literally; he carefully tucked a fold of blanket around his pelvis to conceal the bulge in the old pair of sweat shorts he was wearing. He opened the covers next to him. “C’mon.”

He caught Cas’s smile in the glow of the snowy night through the curtains as he padded over, dragging the big comforter. He threw it over Dean before crawling in beside him--and if Dean had cherished hopes that a chaste distance across the bed would help him control his lust, he was instantly disappointed. Cas snuggled up against him. Dean lay there, staring blankly straight ahead, the only dim sense of restraint still penetrating the haze of desire being that if he didn’t let himself move at all, he couldn’t do anything he shouldn’t.

Too bad Dean was bare-chested. Too bad the fabric of Cas’s nightshirt brushed so alluringly at his bare skin. Too bad he was shaking with the effort of holding himself back. Too bad Cas noticed.

“You’re cold!” Cas said, pressing closer against him. “You gave me all the blankets--”

“No,” Dean said, after he barely stopped himself from moaning aloud when Cas pressed against him, jostling his aching erection. “That’s not ... that’s not why. I’m not cold. Trust me. So, what? You couldn’t sleep?”

Cas peered at him curiously for a moment while Dean studiously refused to look at him. “I haven’t slept well since I came to college,” he admitted finally. “I never slept alone, before I came here.”

“Really?” Dean’s curiosity jarred him out of his torment, at least for a few seconds. “Why not?”

“Well, with seven children in our little house, we all had to share. I slept with my older brother until he got married, and with the two littlest after that. I miss them--Gabriel and Ezekiel,” he said with a sigh. “But they were getting big enough when I left that they probably appreciate the extra room now.” He cleared his throat. “Um, from my roommate’s reaction, I gathered that maybe it’s not ... you know, ‘socially acceptable’ to sleep in the same bed with people who ... with, uh, some people, I guess,” he eyed Dean for confirmation, but only would have seen Dean’s thousand-yard stare, so he kept talking, “but ... I miss the warmth.”

“Why, just ’cos you told him you used to sleep with your brothers? Everybody does that.” He and Sam had shared a bed for years.

“No, when I asked if I could sleep with him.”

Oh, dear God. Dean couldn’t quell a snort.

“He asked me for some reason if I was gay. I didn’t know then that I was. I hadn’t met you yet.” He beamed brightly at Dean, until his expression clouded at the memory of his roommate. “He moved out the next day.”

“What ... about meeting me?” Dean breathed.

“That’s when I realized I had never had romantic feelings for women. When I developed them for you.”

Dean closed his eyes. He should move away. Tuck a pillow between them. Stop pressing his lips against Cas’s head under his chin. “When was that?” he managed.

“The first day of your class, during your introductory lecture,” Cas answered promptly. “I didn’t realize what it was at first. I thought I just respected and admired you, your knowledge and passion for engineering. But around the time you invited me for Thanksgiving, I began to realize I thought about you often, and ... I wasn’t thinking of engineering.” Hesitantly, Cas put his arms around him.

It seemed wrong not to hug him back. Not to kiss his head. Not to caress his shoulders and stroke his neck. Cas sighed and brought his bare knees up around Dean’s bare thighs. Dean couldn’t suppress a sensual groan.

Cas sensed it coming, and turned his head to meet Dean’s lips, melted into the kiss so willingly that Dean moaned helplessly. He kissed Cas agonizingly slow, sensually, consuming his mouth, stroking his face.

“I’m not supposed to do this,” Dean breathed, sliding his tongue into Cas’s mouth, trembling with the effort of holding his cheek tenderly rather than grabbing him like he did before and scaring him again--only he hadn’t scared him, had he? Cas was afraid he’d done something wrong; that was the only reason he pulled away.

Dean was slowly sliding his nightshirt up, sliding his hands under it, stroking Cas’s bare sides. He was lost in sweet, torturous sensuality. The world was Cas’s skin, his lips and hair and breath, his words and his inability to keep on uttering them, his soft sounds of inarticulate desire. Dean made himself stop, pressing his forehead against Cas’s chest. “This is wrong. We should stop.”

“Please don’t stop,” Cas whispered, his mouth opening sensuously as Dean traced his lips with his finger.

Dean pulled Cas’s nightshirt off over his head; Cas, though surprised, cooperated, and Dean moaned when Cas’s hot skin slid against his at last. He kissed Cas with raw urgency, pressing their bodies together like he did that terrible night when Cas ran away, but this time Cas didn’t run away; instead, he clutched him tighter against himself, hesitantly kissing slipping his tongue into Dean’s mouth in return, eyeing him just like he did in class when he wondered if he’d done something right, ever the apt pupil. Dean groaned, writhing. Cas grinned bashfully, seeming able to recognize from Dean’s vivid response that he’d done just fine.

“Cas,” Dean forced himself to say. “We should stop now if you don’t want to ....” Dean was on fire with passion, as he caressed Cas’s body and felt the unexpected hardness of muscles playing beautifully, perfectly under the smooth skin.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Cas said, his breath coming fast now. “It’s just--I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how.”

“I’ll teach you,” Dean breathed.

Dean wasn’t sure, after swimming a depthless ocean of desire, ecstasy, and pure, soul-piercing love, when the beautiful dream that was Cas’s body tangled with his drifted into true sleep. He wasn’t sure when he woke, either, with Cas’s sleeping face inches from his, something that seemed too perfect and divine for Dean’s waking reality.

He had taken Cas’s sensual education seriously, and in this as in all else, Cas had learned eagerly. His sweet innocence gave way to the rapturous ecstasy of discovery, and every gift of love Dean lavished on him, he was eager to reciprocate. It had been, hands down, the best night of Dean’s life.

He had never been so happy, so he didn’t get the wrenching sadness that was welling up in him, tinged with growing fear. It hit him all at once when he remembered--Cas hadn’t decided yet. It could be that the night just past was the only one Dean would have with him, and the idea brought agony and dread, almost panic, which he quickly repressed when Cas stirred beside him in his sleep. He didn’t want to wake Cas with his anxiety.

His room was bright--the blizzard had stopped, and his east-facing window was flooded with bright sun peeking through the blinds, magnified by blinding reflection off the deep drifts of snow. He peered out to see a wonderland of crystalline brilliance, but that beauty could not compare to the one that lay next to him. He surrendered to the feeling and let his heart overflow, watching Cas sleep.

Soon enough, Cas stirred again, stretched, and turned his face toward Dean as his eyes opened. Dean’s heart broke at the impossibly sweet smile Cas gave him, as if nothing could be better than waking to Dean’s face. He had to suppress a sound as Cas immediately kissed him, snuggling close and wrapping around him, or less a sound than a ... sob? He wiped his face immediately, disgusted with himself, planning his escape into the bathroom so Cas wouldn’t witness this douchery, but Cas broke the kiss and peered, stricken, into Dean’s face.

“Sorry,” Dean said, trying to smile and wiping his eyes again quickly. He cleared his throat. “Sleep okay?” he asked awkwardly.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Cas touched Dean’s face with such tender concern that it brought the tears right back.

“Nothing! Sorry. I’m sorry, man. I’m not usually an emo douche like this.” He didn’t need Cas’s bewildered look to know he wouldn’t understand what this meant. “Just ... I’m just glad you’re here with me.”

“I’m glad to be with you, too,” Cas said in his plain-spoken way, stroking Dean’s face, turning it back to him gently. “But what is it you’re being an emo douche about?”

The laughter was jerked out of Dean so abruptly he choked on it, and he coughed and laughed until Cas finally giggled a little, too, reassured. He grabbed Cas so hard he felt the breath huff out of him, and he crushed him in his arms. “God, Cas,” Dean moaned. “I just love you so much.” Dean struggled to stem the wild tempest of feeling, but he was failing. It was like holding an umbrella up against a hurricane. He let the tears flow as he kissed Cas, and kept telling him he loved him; each time, the words seemed inadequate.

“Dean,” Cas whispered, troubled. “It’s okay. What’s wrong?”

Dean was determined not to pressure Cas, not to make him feel guilty for whatever he might decide. He wanted to simply enjoy every moment he had with him, especially if those moments were numbered, but he couldn’t hold the words back. “I need you to stay,” he whispered. “I can’t let you go, Cas. I don’t know how to let you go.”

“Oh, because ... you’re afraid I’m going back to my family?” Cas looked out the window. “Well ... if everything’s okay between me and you, and you really don’t think I’m leading you down the path of temptation ....” He eyed Dean anxiously.

Dean smirked lasciviously. “You are nothing but temptation, Cas,” he breathed, pulling his bare body close to his again. “But everything about you is divine. Not sin. I promise.” He lipped his face, smiling to see the grin it brought to Cas’s face.

“I never wanted to return home, I just thought that was what would be best for everyone, even if it wasn’t what was best for ... me.” At Dean’s stricken expression, he corrected himself quickly, “I mean, I figured that one day, I would see why it had been right for me, too, but ... oh, Dean, I read in the rulebook that you could get in trouble for--for if I did tempt you too much, like if ... wait--” he said, realization suddenly dawning on his face. “For something like-- Could you get in trouble for what we did last night?!” he asked incredulously.

Dean burst out laughing, so hard (and okay, a few tears came out with it) he couldn’t answer. When Cas’s anxiety made him start babbling, Dean quelled the words with a quick kiss. “Not if you don’t tell anybody. I sure as hell won’t.”

Cas looked glum. “Does that mean ... we don’t get to do what we did last night anymore?”

A slow smile grew across Dean’s face as he pulled Cas close and pressed their lips together, then again, and again. He could kiss this man forever. “No. It just means no one can know about it ... at least until you aren’t my student anymore.”

Cas’s eyes lit up. “Like a secret engagement? I always thought those were so romantic.”

It squeezed Dean’s heart, like everything else Cas did. “Yeah, like that.” It suddenly occurred to Dean that if Cas didn’t know what they did last night could get Dean in trouble, Cas would need to be thoroughly educated about exactly what was and wasn’t allowed when they were together in public, such as in class. Soon it seemed more efficient--not to mention fun--to demonstrate what wasn’t allowed, rather than just describe it, and Cas proved he’d learned everything Dean taught him the night before as he got into the game, demonstrating some things that most definitely weren’t allowed in public, whether he was his student or not.

Over breakfast, Sam and Dean discussed travel plans for Christmas, back to Mom and Dad’s. Cas looked a little melancholy, listening to them talk, and Dean said quickly, “Cas, I know buses probably aren’t running today, but I’ll still take you to the station so you can go home for Christmas. Just as long as you come back here after.” He grinned at him. Cas always grinned back, or at least, had since last night, but now his smile was tinged with sadness.

“I can’t go home for a visit; I’m shunned, as long as I mean to stay here,” he said bluntly. “But it’s still ... nice, hearing about your Christmas. It’s really different from ours.”

Dean stared in horror at Cas’s attempt to pretend he wasn’t feeling pain at his and Sam’s careless blabbing about the thing he couldn’t have. Sam caught his eye. Sam looked as anxious as he was. “Well ... the more the merrier. You could come spend your Christmas with us,” Sam said impulsively. It would never have occurred to Dean to bring his new boyfriend home for Christmas, mostly because he was afraid his family would be bothered by the imposition, but if Sam didn’t mind ....

“Yeah!” said Dean. “Yeah, Cas. Roadtrips are way better with more people. Whaddya say?”

Cas was starting to smile again, and Dean was realizing that putting a smile on Cas’s face was fast becoming one of his top priorities.

“Okay,” said Cas, caught up in the growing excitement in the room as Sam looked relieved and joy rose in Dean at the idea of not having to be away from Cas for weeks. “Sounds fun!” Cas said. Dean patted him on the back. “Um ...,” Cas said then uncertainly, and Dean got nervous for a second, “but I’m just wondering ... what’s a ‘roadtrip’?”

~ The End ~