Chaos With Better Lighting [5/7]
Time stumbles and spirals down for Dean like bright leaves falling from branches that now seem incredibly fragile. The dance, and the night in the barn, marked a turning point of sorts-just like that, Castiel is back to being distant and silent, as withdrawn as he was when they first arrived. Even Sam comments on it, on the days when he decides to go and hide somewhere for supper, or when he doesn't join the two of them for rides on Impala.
"I dunno what's up with him." Dean shrugs at the questions, like they're just inquiries about the weather, or something else that trivial. "Probably studying. You know him."
"We don't have any tests," Sam replies, lounging against the door to Impala's stall. Dean in inside, knee-deep in the hair that he's curry-combing from her back. His brother pushes his hair out of his eyes; he's let it get long, just one more little way to defy Lucifer.
"I don't know. He's probably studying for finals or something. I know they're not until summer," he adds before Sam can point out that obvious bit of information. "Cas knows too. I just don't know why else he'd be, like, locking himself in our dorm as soon as we get out."
Alternatively, he does, and it's because Castiel knows that Dean likes him. Dean gave too much away that night in the barn; his eyes lingered a moment too long; the conversation drifted to become just intimate enough so that it left the "Friend" zone and entered the "I think you're hot and kind of want you" one. Castiel can see now that his smiles are more forced from the hiding, that Dean takes care not to casually touch him on the shoulder or anything like that. Cas knows, so he's avoiding Dean.
"Is he seeing someone?" Sam asks, and it's so unexpected that Dean turns to look at him incredulously, letting the brush slip from his hand and onto the wood shavings. There must be something in his eyes that says that's about as likely as Michael and Lucifer hugging and making up in the end, because Sam raises his arms defensively. Even Impala gives a lofty snort, like she's picked up on what a strange idea it is, Castiel going out with one of their classmates. "I know that he can be pretty gung-ho about the whole, you know, marrying Dick and obeying orders thing. But he can't possibly just be sneaking off to study, Dean. It doesn't make sense. Even I don't study that much, and you know how much I study."
"Of course he's not seeing someone," Dean scoffs. He bends down to pick up the dropped brush, patting Impala's belly as he does. "Who would it be? Garth? Andy? That other kid who's not related to Andy, whose name begins with an 'A'?" He still hasn't been able to remember him, even though they have all the same classes. So sue Dean, he doesn't bother paying attention to the people he doesn't care about.
"Could be anyone. It's not like any of the teachers bother to make sure that we're not in each other's rooms at night." Which is very true; Sam sometimes comes over to Dean and Castiel's when the smoke from whatever Andy has his hands on grows too strong. He, Sam, and Cas take turns switching between the beds and the floors.
"Well, he's not," Dean says firmly. He circles the brush over Impala's coat with renewed vigor, slowing only when she swishes her tail and gives an irritated whicker. Petting her ears, he says, "Cas doesn't do those sort of things. Like, dating. I don’t think anyone here does; we're too busy with, like, arranged marriages and all that crap."
"I guess," Sam replies. They move onto another topic, the harvest festival that's coming up in a few weeks, and the Solstice break after that-neither of them have any plans to go back to their respective "homes."
But Sam, the jerk, has managed to infect Dean's head with his words as surely as he'd infect a cut if he smeared it over with dirt and ash. And rust. And then added little pieces of broken glass to it; that would pretty much guarantee an infection.
So that night, when Dean is reluctantly reading up on sword-fighting techniques from a book that Caleb gave him, and when Castiel is doing who-knows-what over at the desk, Dean asks casually, "So what've you been doing with all your free time? You, like, dating someone?" He very deliberately doesn't look at Cas.
But Castiel looks at him, and Dean can feel that, the surprise in his eyes as burning and sudden as if someone flung a couple of hot coals at the back of his neck. "Seeing someone? Romantically? No, of course not. You know that I'm-I'm engaged to Dick Roman. That hasn't been called off in the least, however full of rebellion your plans might be."
His words don't hold any accusation. A bit of bitterness, maybe, that he's made his choice not to go along with them (although he should damn well know that the offer will be open until the day he and Sam run away) but mostly it's just surprise that's too intense to possibly have been faked.
"That's good. I mean, it's good that you're not, um, messing around with anyone. Most of the guys here are probably jerks. 'Sides me and Sam." Dean nods, even though he's pretty sure that Castiel has turned around again. "That's good," he repeats to himself, and the amount of relief that he feels is probably kind of pathetic.
Castiel's routine becomes almost monotonous, which isn't entirely a bad thing. He was raised in a world where obedience was key, and although Zachariah allowed him more freedom as he got older, there is some comfort in order. He has classes daily, and learns a variety of things both useful and useless-how to fight with a broadsword, a comprehensive history of the Hell-Heaven wars, what not to wear with brown shoes. After that, several hours of studying and completing assignments, and very pointedly Not Thinking about Dean. Then dinner, and then more studying. Or possibly reading, or practicing with Caleb, if the teacher has some spare time. Castiel likes sword fighting more than he ever thought he would.
Mostly, though, the hours that don't fall into the pleasant lull of his school routine are occupied with avoiding Sam and Dean. It's for the best, it really is. Dean must know that Castiel likes him in that way, and it would probably be extremely uncomfortable for them to spend time together with that knowledge hanging over them like a heavy sword waiting to chop off their heads (which is probably something of a phallic metaphor, Castiel notes when he first comes up with it. He rather misses Balthazar). And it wouldn't be right to force Sam to spend time apart from his brother, as Castiel sees it. They were separated for so long, it would be unfair for him to come between them.
Unfortunately, Sam has drastically different ideas about what qualifies "Fair" and "Unfair." It probably has something to do with him having been raised in Hell and Castiel in Heaven. Or something like that.
Anyway, the Harvest Festival has just passed by uneventfully when Sam corners him one night as he's coming out of a duel with Caleb. He's walking out of the arena where their class is held, his white commoner's shirt sticking to his chest from sweat, when Sam steps out from where he was leaning against the wall. Were Castiel the flinching type, he probably would have jumped. "Hello, Sam."
"Hi, Cas. What's going on?" Sam falls into step with him like they were soldiers trained to march in the same battalion. "And don't ask me what I mean, because you know the answer to that. I don't think we've spoken more than a dozen words since the dance, and it's kinda starting to worry me."
It's true. Castiel might not be particularly socially competent, but even he can read the concern that brews in Sam's dark eyes, a veritable well of worry-laced rainwater. "It's nothing, Sam. I've…I've been busy."
"I don't know what there is to be busy with," Sam counters, pushing a lock of his rather long hair behind his ears. "It's not like we've been having that much homework. And I mean, I know we've got midterms in a couple of weeks, but come on, you can't be studying that much."
"I've also been dueling on my own," Castiel points out.
"Yeah, but for what? An hour a night? You can't be that busy."
"I wash up afterwards."
Sam rolls his eyes, which is fair enough; Castiel is well aware that this is an argument that he'll lose, unless he wants to disclose his feelings for Dean. Which he doesn't, least of all to Dean's younger brother. "Cas, come on. You're my friend. Dean's down at the barn cleaning up; just come on by and say high to him. And Impala; she misses you."
"Impala loathes me." He has a very clear memory of her glaring and snorting at him, pawing her hoof upon the ground in an almost threatening manner. Probably she was warning him not to approach Dean; animals can be very perceptive. "And as I said, I need to-"
"Everyone here smells like sweat. It's a bunch of mostly teenage guys. And Dean's been at the stables for an hour or something anyway; he's not gonna be looking too beautiful himself. Come on." Sam's eyes meet his, and they widen considerably, to the extent where they look like they would better belong on a baby dog. A sad baby dog. One that desperately wants something that it will probably get, simply because of those eyes. "Please?"
Cas looks away, but the damage is done. That, and his mind is already filled with the idea of Dean in the stables, his eyes bright and happy, hair partially sticking to his forehead, muscular arms rippling as he tosses out hay in a gesture that shouldn't be nearly as appealing as it is…
"Very well," Castiel answers, gritting his teeth and silently hating his irritatingly hormone-driven heart.
They're in love.
Sam didn't believe it at first, had passed off his nagging suspicions as being nothing more than figments of his imagination. But now, watching Dean and Castiel together in the barn? Seeing the way that Dean grins and unconsciously straightens as Castiel walks in, how Cas blushes and genuinely smiles at the sight of him? There's no denying it. They've both fallen as surely as if they walked off a cliff.
And Sam…Sam kind of likes that. They would make each other happy, he thinks. Castiel is reasonable and straightforward compared to his brother's impulsive willingness to act on behalf of anyone he cares about. And Dean has a sense of humor that perfectly complements Castiel's uptight upbringing. They fit together like two pieces of an unlikely jigsaw puzzle-at first, the patterns on top seem opposite, unfitting, but it turns out that Tab A perfectly fits into Tab B, and they were meant to go together all along. Which Sam recognizes is a kind of sexual metaphor; so sue him, he's been in that frame of mind ever since he met Jess.
In any case, as Sam watches Dean toss a small vessel of polish to Castiel and hears him tell him to start up on Impala's tack, he decides that this is a very good thing. They'll be happy together, as soon as they admit their mutual feelings. And that shouldn't take long at all; it's so obvious to him that they must know. Within a week, he'd bet, Dean and Castiel will be very publically together. A month at most.
Sam pats Impala's nose and smiles giddily, watching the two of them work on shining the saddles. The future looks very bright right there in the barn, and Sam is looking forward to it.
And then it's almost time for them to be breaking for the Solstice Feast, and Dean and Castiel are still holding each other at arm's length like the other is a precious painting that can only be glanced upon and loved, but never, ever touched, and Sam is forced to admit that he might have severely overestimated their intelligence.
Dean scribbles to the last minute on Henricksen's exam, forcing himself to do all that he can to finish writing about the trade agreements between the fishing industry of Purgatory and the miners of Hell. It's an amazingly dry, pointless topic, but Dean forces himself to write until Henricksen gives the command to stop. Then he throws down his stylus and resists the urge to cheer, because that's it. Their last midterm of the year. He's got just over three blissful weeks stretching out before him, weeks when he can just rest and relax, hang out with Sam and with Castiel, and let all the learning of academia melt from his brain like chocolate left out on a hot summer's day.
Castiel throws the wrench in that plan.
"I'll be leaving tomorrow," he mentions casually as the three of them lounge in the stable, where they've taken to spending all of their free time. It's an old and rickety barn that offers little protection from the frigid drafts outside. Half the time it feels like the whole thing is just going to collapse on their heads, and it smells like horse poop and hay. But no one else is ever in it, not even the stable boys, who must come and go late at night, like the elves to the shoemaker in that one story. They've got privacy, which is what really matters.
Especially at moments like right now, because Dean imagines that the pissed-off look on his face is probably borderline comical in his outrage, and it's not something that he'd like the assholes in his class to see. "You'll be what?"
"Leaving." Castiel burrows into the hay, pulling his tan vest closer around him. It's snowy out; snow is dripping from their boots, leaving ice-studded puddles on the packed dirt floor. "To go back to Heaven over break. Zachariah demanded that I come home so that he can see how I'm progressing; I thought I mentioned that to you?" At Dean's curt shake of his head, Castiel frowns and continues on. "Well, in any case, Balthazar should be here tomorrow. Unless the weather delays him, which it probably won't."
"You are not leaving," Dean says firmly, his glare narrowing with each word. "No. No way. None of us are, right Sam?"
"Right," Sam confirms. He's sitting on the lowest hay bale in the pile, his legs (which Dean thinks have grown longer in the time that he's been here) stretching in front of him. Castiel is at the top, knees drawn up in an apparent and futile attempt to escape the cold that permeates the air. Dean is the leftmost of the three of them, midway up the pile with his back against Impala's stall. It's their typical arrangement, one they just got into one day and never had the urge to get out of. "Even if Lucifer had asked for me back, I wouldn't have gone. It's the Solstice, and the New Year. We're supposed to be having a good time."
"And I told Michael to go to Hell when he requested me. Fuck, maybe he will. Maybe he'll have supper with Lucifer and they'll cry and hug and shit, and then this whole fight will be over." The absurdity of the imagination makes Dean smirk for a moment, before he remembers that he has a Very Serious situation on his hands here. "You're not going Cas. End of story. Unless…do you want to go?"
He looks sharply at Castiel, whose dark hair is all messy from the wind and the snow. His calves are nicely accentuated, the way he's got his legs drawn up, and Dean really wishes that he could think with his upstairs brain for a moment. Probably Castiel does want to leave. Probably he's sick of Dean's quick glances and swallowed admirations.
"Of course not." Castiel frowns, like the thought is completely bizarre. "Dean, it would please me greatly to just stay here with you and Sam. I promise. But I can't so openly deny Zachariah. There's no way that he would stand for that. I would be punished… probably removed from this school for my rebellion."
"That's batshit," Dean grumbles, but he doesn't know what else to say. It's a trying task, attempting to teach Castiel about freedom, personal choice, and telling his higher-up to go and fuck himself. Dean isn't the best of teachers, and this is a topic on which there really isn't a preexisting lesson plan.
It's not that Sam isn't enough. No way, not at all. Dean loves that he gets the chance to spend Solstice with his brother, he really does. It's their first in twelve years, and it's going to be awesome.
But at the same time, he had really been counting on Castiel being there, in all of his stubborn, socially-uncomfortable glory. Because Dean likes Castiel. A lot. In a lot of ways. And having him nearby would push this holiday from 'awesome' to 'fantastic.'
Still, you can't always get what you want. And if Castiel is set on going back to Heaven, Dean can't change that. He'll just sit around and mourn the lost opportunities while having a damned good time of their own with Sam.
Castiel is woken up by a loud thump against the dorm window. He presumes that it was just a leftover tendril of dream sneaking out and making him think that it was real, and so he rolls over to face the wall and tries to go back to sleep.
Thunk!
At that, Castiel does sit up. He notices that Dean is stirring too, blinking and scratching at his head of sleep-mussed hair (which should not be nearly as attractive as it is). "Wass 'at?"
"I don't know." Castiel swings his bare feet onto the worn rug and takes a long step so that the window is in reach. He lifts the shade, not knowing at all what to expect-
And is more surprised than he should be to see that it's Balthazar behind this. Balthazar, who's standing knee-deep in snow and grinning like mad, another snowball readied in his hand.
A reluctant smile splits Castiel's face, and he works the frost-coated window open. "Balthazar. It's good to see you."
"Just good? I think that it's utterly amazing, simply fantastic, absolutely divine to see you again, Cassie." Balthazar chucks the snowball so that it splats just below the window. "Now let me in, you fool. We've got plenty of things to discuss."
By the time that Castiel is decent, Balthazar, Dean, and Sam are all down in the cafeteria, making good use of a basket of fat muffins.
"Took you long enough," Balthazar says. His feet are up on the bench, melted snow pooling beneath them. Castiel rolls his eyes and slides in across from him, sitting next to Sam. "Even Sam's out before you, and he's got a good deal more hair to take care of."
"I would have been ready earlier if it hadn't taken so long clearing your security." Bobby's not up this early in the morning, and Professor Turner is a good deal more paranoid than he.
"Blame it all on me, why don't you." Balthazar shakes his head in mock hurt, taking an impossibly large bite out of his muffin. "That really pains me, Castiel."
"No, it doesn't." Castiel picks up a bran muffin from the basket and reluctantly begins chewing. He has the foolish desire to draw this day out as long as possible, put off his leaving for as long as he reasonably can. It should be a welcome opportunity, this chance to go home and see Zachariah, receive further instructions on how to conduct himself-but it's not. He wants to stay here and get into snowball fights, he and Sam against Dean. He wants to be there in person to wish Dean a happy Solstice when Dean has just gotten up, and still has sleep clouding over his green eyes. He wants to be around to ring in the New Year with these people, his friends. That goes against everything that he knows about obedience and lack of desire, but it's still true.
"You've got me there." Balthazar sits up straight. "So aren't you going to ask me when we're going off? Heading back to Heaven, away from these two infuriatingly close brothers?" He nods at Sam and Dean, who are sitting on Castiel's side. They roll their eyes in tandem. It's rather impressive.
"I was going to finish eating first, but since you've brought it up…" Castiel nods at Balthazar, who sits up with a flourish. He lives for this attention, having all eyes on him.
"That's the grand part, Cassie. We're not."
Castiel stares at him blankly, his mouth automatically working to chew up the muffin inside of it. Balthazar is grinning with his fingers together in a steeple, very clearly waiting for a reaction.
Castiel swallows and says, "What?"
"We. Are. Not. Going. To. Heaven. Unless you're absolutely set on it, but, well, something tells me that you're not." He raises his eyebrow knowingly and Castiel glares, slightly hating him even as he prays that neither Dean nor Sam pick up on the meaning of the gesture. "You see, there was this terrible snowstorm, and I came in during the middle of the night half-frozen and near death. I simply wasn't able to travel, and you, like the loyal friend that you are, made it your job to sit by my bedside until my fever finally broke. Right?"
"There's no way that Zachariah will buy that. You don't look sick at all, for one thing; a glimpse at your face and he will know that you're lying." Castiel shakes his head. Of all of the foolhardy plans that his friend has come up with over the years, this one is a standout.
"Yes, but if you write him a letter certifying that it's true and send it along with one of this school's messengers, he'll have no choice other than to accept it. After all, little Castiel would never rebel. The very idea!" Balthazar smirks. "Come on. You definitely don't want to see him, he doesn't really want to see you, you still get to see me-it's a win-win situation for everyone."
Castiel opens his mouth, with every intention of protesting that this is a foolish scheme that Zachariah will never buy. But then he glances over at the Winchesters. Dean, leaning against the scarred wooden bench and grinning at the prospect of him staying around over the Solstice break. Sam, leaning forward with an optimistically intrigued look on his face. And then there's Balthazar, sitting across from them with that eternally smarmy expression of his.
His family, the three of them. More than Zachariah ever was, and more than Dick Roman will ever eventually be.
So Castiel sighs and agrees with some reluctance, but most of it is forced, put on only out of habit.
"They've fallen for each other ve-ery quickly, haven't they?" Balthazar mutters to Sam, his accented voice pitched low so as to not be overheard.
Sam glances at him. The two of them are lounging on the far end of the hay bales and watching Dean teach Castiel how to properly braid Impala's mane, a skill Sam picked up on weeks ago-"Not that we need to make her look like some chick pony, but just in case I ever show her, it's good to know," as Dean put it.
Now Dean's fingers are very carefully guiding Castiel's as he shows him how to plait his horse's mane. He grins as Castiel clumsily works it out, saying a quiet litany of "Yeah, that's it, good job." And Castiel is smiling in that small but definite way of his, reddening during the moments that Dean's hand lingers on his for a couple of seconds longer than is strictly necessary.
"Yeah," Sam replies, quiet enough so that he's sure Dean and Castiel won't overhear him. The barn is noisy today, anyway; a lot of students are heading back for their homes like Castiel is supposed to be doing. "It's been like this for a while now. Driving me crazy."
Balthazar laughs. "They're delightfully smitten with each other. It's sweet, really. Would be nicer if they weren't so stupid and could actually realize the mutuality of their feelings."
"Tell me about it." Sam is torn between rolling his eyes and grinning; he ends up just shaking his head and flopping back onto the scratchy hay bales. "It's like they're doing it on purpose."
"I doubt it. With all due respect to Castiel-and I do respect him, really-he is not what you'd call socially aware. He probably thinks Dean loathes him, or something like that." Balthazar shakes his head, tossing a leg up over a hay bale in a way that looks both lewd and exceedingly uncomfortable. "He's completely unable to realize that the rest of us are absolutely drowning in the sea of sexual tension between the two of them."
"I'm the one who has to be around them all the time." Sam fiddles with a loose piece of hay, frowning as he watches Dean make lovey-dovey eyes at Castiel when over Impala's back. Castiel, naturally, isn't looking, and Dean probably isn't even aware that he's doing it. "I wish that there was something I could do. You know, to…"
"Hook them up?" Balthazar supplies helpfully.
"Yeah, that. Make them realize that their feelings are mutual. But I don't know how." He snaps the hay in half, frustrated. "There's no way I can just bring it up with them; they'll just deny liking each other at all. And it's not like I can, I don't know, lock them up in the dungeons together. They're already sleeping in the same room every night. If they haven't hooked up by now, they're never going to. I just wish that there were some way I could make them, like, lose their inhibitions. Entirely."
It takes him a moment to realize that Balthazar is staring at him, a small, coy smile on his face. Sam frowns. "What?"
"Well," Balthazar says slowly, "if you really mean that, I do have a few things I'd let you borrow…"
Castiel stares at the admittedly impressive collection of flasks, flagons, and booze bottles that are currently spread out across the floor of their dorm room. Balthazar sits behind them, wearing some sort of apron that Castiel thinks he stole from the kitchens back at the castle. He's a bartender without a bar, and Castiel, sitting directly across from him and in full view of the not-totally-legal drinks, is his desired patron.
Balthazar raises his eyebrow and sweeps his hand over the liquor. "Come on, Cassie. The best, the finest, all snatched from Zachariah's personal stash by yours truly. It would hardly be finishing school without at least one night one wild, reckless partying, right?"
"Amen to that," Dean calls from his bed where he's sprawled on his stomach, looking down at the glass bottles. He has a loopy grin on already, like he's been mentally drunk for hours. "It's totally safe as long as we don't, like, get drop-down drunk and we stay in here. Trust me Cas, I've stolen stuff from Michael loads of times."
"If Robert Singer walks in here right now," Castiel says, ignoring Dean's comment on the purported safety of this, "We will be expelled. That is not risk that I am willing to take. The answer is no, Balthazar."
He stands up and starts to walk away. Surprisingly enough, it's Sam who calls back to him. "Cas, wait. Um. I want to have a few drinks, but I don't wanna get, like, drunk. And I know these two won't stop me, so…" Sam, sitting next to Dean's bed, blinks pleadingly at Cas. "Please?"
Castiel hesitates, but in the end the fact that he thinks of Sam likes a brother wins out, and he reluctantly sits back down on the flat carpet again, sighing. "Don't let this be a mistake, Balthazar."
"Of course not," his friend says cheerfully, pouring some form of amber brew into a tiny glass, which he then thrusts into Castiel's hand. "Now. Why don't you get us started?"
Dean is quite pleasantly buzzed, a bottle of beer in his hand and several shots under his belt. He hasn't felt like this in quite a long time-not since leaving Heaven, definitely. That's one of the few things that he misses about the place, Michael's stash of all the finest wines and gins. They were supposedly kept under lock and key. Dean, fortunately enough, was very good at picking locks.
He's lying on his side now, where he has an optimal view of Balthazar, who seems mildly tipsy (although he always has that air to him, so it's hard to tell how much is drunkness and how much is his normal personality), Sam, who seems curious about everything but still pretty sober, and Cas.
Cas, whose skills even Dean is impressed by. He hasn’t been paying attention to the number of times that Balthazar refilled his tiny shot glass, but if he had, Dean bets that he'd be amazed. And Cas looks good, too. Maybe it's just the booze in his own head talking, but damn. Some drunks fall apart. Castiel looks as composed as ever, even as he lets out a small belch and then hastily mutters a slurred, "Scuse me."
"'s okay, Cas." Dean grins at his friend/roommate/crush, and to his surprise, Castiel actually smiles back-not his normal reserved, half-tilt of his lips, but an actual, toothy grin. 's weird, but it suits him.
"I like it when you smile like 'at," Dean says. He sits up, beer sloshing in his bottle, and then almost falls back down. The room spins for a moment, and then steadies. Yeah, he's drunk. "Should do it more often," he adds, nodding sagely. Castiel nods back. His head bobs for a moment too long. It seems like the effects of the shots are finally coming up to him.
Dean flops off the bed, nearly elbowing Sam, who scoots quickly out of his way. "Dean, don't you think you've had enough?"
"No, he hasn't," Balthazar says quickly. He gives Sam a Look that Dean, under other circumstance, might analyze. Tonight it just makes him laugh. "We'll know when he's had enough, won't we, Sam?"
Sam rolls his eyes and says something about stupid ideas that never work. Dean's not sure what he's talking about because right now, he is totally focused on Castiel. Castiel, who is bravely swallowing down yet another shot. His throat looks long and lean, and Dean has the absurd urge to reach over and kiss it hard, mark it with his teeth.
And because he's maybe kind of drunk, he does. He leans over, and he kisses Castiel right where his neck joins up with his collar bone. Above him, Castiel stills, the shot all swallowed.
His skin tastes like sweat and, well, skin. Nothing notable. Kinda soapy, maybe, the cheap stuff that the school gives them down in the communal bathroom, the kind that gives Dean a rash if he makes the mistake of using it in certain places. But it's Cas's neck that he's kissing, so it's good.
When Dean is satisfied with the mark he's sucked on Castiel's throat, he pulls away and blinks up at Castiel. Who is staring at him, eyes wide with shock. His shot glass lies abandoned on the carpet, and for the first time hesitation worms its way into Dean's drunken mind. Was that not a good idea?
"Di'ja like that?" he finally asks Castiel, who just keeps on staring at him. It's getting disconcerting. And highly uncomfortable.
Castiel hiccups. "You kissed me, Dean."
"'s 'cause you're hot," he replies. In the back of his mind, a tiny alarm bell starts ringing, telling him he is leaving the territory of Normal Drunk and entering that of Feeeeeeelings Drunk, or The One Where He Lets Out All His Secrets. But Dean just takes a swig of his beer and continues to talk. He can't trust that the alarm is right. He's pretty drunk, after all. "I mean, daaaaamn, Cas. Do you know? Like, your eyes are all blue an shit, and your hair. Your hair's, like…dark. 'nd ruffly. It's good hair," he adds, in case Cas doesn't get that.
"If you were kidnapped by Lucifer," Castiel says in response, his blue 'n shit eyes burning with a drunken sort of flame, "I would go t' Hell and get you. 'f you fell down, I would raise you up." He nods, like he's agreeing with everything that comes out of his mouth. "I'd die for you, Dean."
"Woah." Dean's eyes are wide, his nods wide and uncoordinated. He probably looks kinda stupid, but they're all drunk anyway, so he's totally cool given the context. "I'd die for you, too, Cas. And not just 'cause you're, like, super burning hot."
He leans forward, until he can smell Castiel's fermented breath and count every single freckle on his nose. "I'd do it 'cause I like you. Like, love like. And not in the family way, either." He shakes his head, somehow managing to more or less keep Castiel's intense gaze locked with his. "I mean in the good way, Cas."
"I understand," Cas says solemnly.
It's impossible to say who leans forward first, who makes the move-but then they're kissing, and okay, Dean likes this. Castiel's neck was pretty awesome, but his lips are something else entirely. Dry and slightly chapped, and also as forceful as they need to be in the moment. And-shit, is that tongue? It is, and that bit was definitely not initiated by Dean. Which is too bad, because it's so damn twisty and spit-slicked and good that he'd love to be able to take credit for it.
They come up for air a minute or ten or eighty later, and that's when Dean remembers that they're not alone. Balthazar is totally watching them from across his bottles, smirking. And Sam is biting down on his lower lip like he's trying not to laugh, looking more satisfied than maybe he should.
"I think we should get going, Sammy boy," Balthazar says suddenly, standing up and clambering over his collection of assorted adult beverages. "I'm going to be staying with the younger Winchester tonight. Have a good time, boys." His hips are swaying from side to side as he leaves the room in a drunken victory walk. "Use protection!"
Sam rolls his eyes and stands up, managing to be fairly coordinated considering the circumstances. "I'm, uh. I'm gonna go. Good night, you two. Have fun." He grins, and then he scrambles out the room and is gone, the door shut and locked behind him.
Dean looks back at Cas. Cas blinks back at him. He has very nice eyelashes, Dean notes.
It's just the two of them, a pair of beds, and a remaining pile of drinks.
"Want to make out?" he asks. He's not much of a poet when it comes to things like this.
Thankfully, Castiel isn't a romantic mood at the moment, because he just nods seriously and asks, "Which bed?"
Castiel comes to with a headache pounding his head like soldiers beating their drums on the battlefield, and with a body sprawled over his. His first thought is that these things are probably connected.
He blinks, manages to clear the worst of the silken gray veil from his vision, and then sees that it's Dean who's lying on top of him. Whose hand is tucked under his shoulder, whose head is planted over his shoulder, face flattened against the small, flat pillow that they're sharing. He's still snoring lightly, and Castiel can feel his chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale.
It takes a moment for these pieces to connect into a complete puzzle, and then for the memories of the night before to really come through. When they do, Castiel shoots up in bed, swearing and managing to completely dislodge Dean, who then rolls off the bed like he's boneless.
"Shit!" Dean's eyes snap open as he scrambles to regain himself, knocking over several bottles of uncertain origin as he does, remnants of last night's revelries. Which were brought about by Balthazar.
Balthazar, who knows Castiel better than anyone, and who Castiel has never really managed to hide anything from.
"I'm going to murder Balthazar," he growls, pressing the heel of his palm against his eyes, which are currently protesting the dim light that manages to slip under the curtains.
"Did you push me?" Dean asks, apparently having not heard him. He's sitting on the carpet in nothing but his pants. His legs are splayed out before him, and is that a… a hickey on his clavicle? Castiel's hand automatically goes to his own neck, and he's completely unsurprised to find a similar mark.
"Cas?"
Castiel becomes aware that he's slack-jawed and gaping at the moment, just staring blankly at Dean, who looks bizarrely hurt. "Dean. We…we made out."
"No shit. Did you push me?"
"No, of course not. I was merely surprised, because I just woke up with you lying over me, half-naked, and I'm also rather hung-over, and I only vaguely recall the events of last night. But no. I didn't push you."
"That's good." Dean rubs the back of his head and then looks away from Cas, distracting himself by setting the knocked-over bottles right. "So."
"So."
"Did you…did you not want that?"
Of all the things that Castiel had expected to hear from the decidedly heterosexual Dean Winchester's mouth, concern for Castiel's sake was decidedly not one of them. "What? It…it doesn't matter what I want…"
"That's crap, Cas." Dean looks back at him, frowning. Now his fingers are rubbing at the bruise on his neck, which Castiel vaguely remembers leaving. It's all kind of muddled in a twist of sheets, sweat, and unpleasant-smelling beer breath, but he thinks that Dean had arched against him and given some definite noises of approval when he left that particular mark. "Of course it does. And I mean, we were both drunk and everything, but I don't want to think that, like. I fucked everything up cause we did something that you didn't want, you know?"
"What? Dean, no." Castiel shakes his head and stands, despite how his head protests such a move. Carefully stepping over the bottles, he goes to sit on his own cleanly-made bed, which definitely wasn't slept in last night. "I…I thought you didn't want that. You prefer the company of women."
"Yeah, and one guy." Dean laughs, although it wasn't really a funny comment. Then he winces and presses a hand to his temple, and Castiel infers that he's probably also suffering from a rather unpleasant hangover. "I mean, you don't like me. It's cool, Cas. Not your fault. We were both drunk and really stupid, and-fuck, Sam knew about this, didn't he? I'm going to kill-"
"Wait," Castiel says, frowning, because maybe it's just the hangover, maybe it's making him stupid, but-"one guy?" Perhaps Castiel's lack of social skills are making the true meaning of those words escape him, but it almost sounds as though Dean is insinuating-
No. No, stupid, stupid idea. Dean doesn't like him.
Except, didn't he say that he did last night? Or is Castiel making that up, some imagined conversation created by the booze?
There is precisely one way to find out, and Castiel decides that taking it is by far the less painful route. "Dean. Do you like me? In that way?"
Dean starts and stares at him. For once, it's he who's blushing all red, not Castiel. He rather likes the change. "Look, if you don't like me back-that's cool. It's not like you can control it. I get that. And it's not like you want to jump the bones of every guy that you see. I understand-"
"Dean. Do you like me as more that a friend?"
Dean drops his gaze. In an uncharacteristically silent voice he says, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do, Cas."
Oh. Castiel nods, his mouth stuck and no words willing to make the long passage from his thoughts to his throat. Three months of having fallen for Dean, three months of being determine not to say anything for fear of him finding out and their friendship ending-and Dean likes him back? This is absurd. This has to be a dream.
He slides off of the bed and sits on the floor next to Dean, kicking aside some empty canisters to make room. Dean turns to look at him. His mouth quirks up in a small smile, despite the heaviness in his eyes. "Cas? You wanna say something? Cause I'm getting kind of worried over here."
Castiel licks his lips and prays to his absentee Father that he doesn't screw this up. "Dean. I. I like you too. In that way."
Surprise flickers over Dean's face, but then it's gone, rare and unlikely as lightning on a sunny day. "Really? Shit. I wasn't expecting that."
"Me neither," Castiel admits. He tries for a small smile. It seems appropriate.
Judging by the considerably larger grin that breaks out over Dean's face, it was. "Cas? Can I kiss you?"
"Yes. I mean, of cou-"
Dean's lips are as soft and perfect as he remembers from last night, and Castiel is absurdly thankful that that wasn't just something that the alcohol had forced him to imagine.
They stay like that for an indeterminate amount of time, just kissing with short, quick gasps of air in-between the soft touches. Castiel thinks that they're making up for lost time now, both of them sitting on their dorm floor, lazily kissing and running their hands over the other's hair, shoulders, back. Dean's muscles are hot under Castiel's cool touch, his skin smooth and almost gold, and Cas thinks that he could very easily do this all day.
But eventually they break apart, both knowing that they need to get downstairs at some point, let their asshole friends (or brother, in Dean's case) know that they didn't choke on their own vomit overnight. They stand up, getting dressed in the same room for the first time in a long time.
"Cas?" Dean says, his back to him as he pulls on his pants.
"Yes?" Castiel fastens a high-collared shirt, doing his best to make the hickey marks as unobtrusive as possible.
"Happy Solstice."
Castiel smiles, feeling genuinely at peace, something he really hasn't felt since he first heard of his engagement to the Lord of Purgatory-by-the-Sea. But as he says, "Happy Solstice to you too, Dean," all thoughts of Dick Roman are temporarily swept from his mind, and Castiel feels really and truly good.
Sam and Balthazar have been waiting in the dining room for the better part of an hour, nursing their hangovers in relative peace (although Sam thinks he was considerably more affected, despite having only had one beer and a couple of shots). Bobby stopped by once to wish them a happy Solstice. Sam prays that he looks far better than he feels. Which wouldn't be hard, since he kind of feels like crap.
"Oh, look! Here come our lovebirds now." Balthazar grins and nods to the entrance. It's about half-past-noon, by Sam's estimations, far later than either his brother or Castiel are wont to rise.
The two of them slink over to where he and Balthazar are seated. Cas slides in next to Balthazar, Dean to Sam, and no one looks at each other. It's very, very quiet for a moment, possibly even surpassing That Time Dean and Castiel Started Making Out Right Next to Sam in terms of uncomfortableness.
Naturally, it's Balthazar who breaks that awkwardness, or possibly makes it even worse.
"So," he says brightly, slinging his arm around Castiel, "did you two embrace the most fervid depths of passion last night?"
Dean chokes on the sip of water that he was swallowing. Sam instinctively thumps him on the back until he's more-or-less regained control of his breath. "How is that any business of yours? And why the fuck did you get us drunk? Do you know what a fucking dick move that is?"
He glares darkly at Balthazar, who takes his arm off of Castiel to raise both his hands in a defensive gesture. "Happy Solstice to you too, Dean. And of course it's my business. Castiel has been like a younger brother to me-well, all the times we screwed excepted-and I am highly concerned about his love life. As for getting drunk, it was quite clear that you both were being willfully blind, and Sammy and I just couldn't stand being immersed in your sexual tension a moment longer. I mean, I've been here for about three days and I thought I was going to drown in your obvious desire to just grab each other and start humping with your clothes on."
Dean glowers at him a moment longer, and then Sam suddenly finds himself the object of Dean's ire, his older brother's burning eyes directing all of their fire onto him until he's burning up. He resists the urge to sink low on the bench. "And you, Sam? You actually wanted to get me and Cas drunk so we'd hook up?"
Sam swallows hard, glancing briefly at Castiel and Balthazar for moral support. Balthazar just leans back and grins, flippantly raising an eyebrow. Castiel wears a slight frown, but he doesn't look like he's about to draw his sword and run Sam through. He nods at him to go on, more supportive a gesture than he's getting from Dean. "It's not like that, Dean. Not really. I mean, it wasn't my idea. But…I do want you to be happy. You and Cas. And I'm sorry, but it was really, really obvious ever since the dance that you two were, you know." He waves his hand vaguely, trying to figure out how to say this without bringing the l-word into play. "Attracted to each other."
"Funny how everyone noticed that but you two." Balthazar rolls his eyes. "Anyway, all's well that ends well. And it did end well, right?"
"It ended fine," Dean replies. He turns away from Sam, his thick, practically tangible anger slowly abating. "And that's all you need to know."
"Fair enough." Balthazar's merry grin makes it very clear of his opinion of what fine consists of. "Now. How shall we spend the rest of the day on this merry Solstice celebration?"
They end up hanging around in the barn for the rest of the day, predictably enough. Sam doesn't mind that, though. It's nice to have that bit of normalcy, now that things are very clearly different with Dean and Cas.
They don't make it obvious, of course. Castiel is decidedly not the type of person to show affection in public, Sam knows that without having to look, and he thinks that Dean is still a bit freaked out by the way that he's with a guy. Probably not wanting to make that public quite yet.
The signs, though, are there for someone who knows. How Dean and Castiel walk just a bit closer than usual; how Dean's hand sneaks up once or twice to rub Castiel's fingers. How Castiel lingers near Dean, where he would have put distance between them before.
It doesn't bother Sam, not really. He knows that this probably will affect the dynamic of their trio, but they were lusting after each other so strongly before that he already had time to get used to the idea. And like he told Dean, he really does want them to be happy. They both deserve that, and if it's with each other that they find that happiness, then all the better.
No, he's not bothered by any of that. It's just that Sam is maybe secretly a tiny bit…jealous. Watching as Castiel smiles at Dean, brushes their hands together as they lean in for a brief, two-second kiss-it makes him envious that he can't have that. Because Sam has slowly been falling for Jessica, the smart, beautiful, charismatic girl that he met at the dance.
Jessica, who's the heir to a tiny mansion in a small providence of Earth that's near Purgatory. Who's the top of her class at Harvelle's. And who has a laugh sweet as sugar dipped in honey, and lips that taste kind of like cherries. She lacks Ruby's cruel, self-centered streak, but has the same sort of inner strength radiating from her.
They talk in letters, but it's not enough. She isn't betrothed to anyone yet, the land she's to rule too insignificant to capture the lure of most of Earth's stronger players. Sam imagines maybe going to her after they graduate, after he, Dean, and probably Castiel have gone on the lam, and inviting her to come with them. He thinks that she'd like that. She's adventurous, from what he can tell.
But for now, he does his best not to think about Jess, about romance that he doesn't have, and tries to focus on the general festivity of Solstice. And on being happy for Dean and Castiel, as they all lounge in the hay bales and relate stories of their professors and their classes to Balthazar. It's a good day, really. And maybe he'll see Jessica later. Right now, Sam focuses on happiness and hope, for his brother's future, his friend's, and his own.
That night, after a vibrant dinner of roasted duck, several different kinds of potato, plates of indeterminate green vegetables, and pie of the pumpkin and apple sort, and after they've both wished Balthazar and Sam a very good night, Dean finds himself back in the dorm room with Castiel. Neither one of them knows how exactly this is supposed to go. The romantic instinct that is supposed to guide young lovers has apparently decided not to present itself in either of them.
"So," Dean says, fingering the waist of his pajama pants.
Castiel nods. They're sitting on their beds, facing each other. The bottles from before have been packed away and given back to Balthazar, who grinned and told them to help themselves whenever they felt like it.
"Do you want to, you know." Dean waves his hand, not entirely sure what he wants to convey. Kiss? Feel each other up? Or something else? He has, admittedly, never actually been with a guy before, which makes this kind of weird. He knows the mechanics of everything just fine, of course, has had some experience with the fairer sex. But that actual doing is something that escapes him completely, although he has fantasized about it plenty of times before.
"We can-we should-take it slowly," Castiel says, crossing and then uncrossing his legs at the ankle. "This is…new territory for you, right?"
"You mean being with a dude?" At Castiel's nod he says, "Yeah. I mean, I'm not, like, innocent or pure in mind or anything like that. But I've never been with a guy before."
"That's fine. It doesn't really make any difference." There's a moment of silence, and then Castiel says hesitantly, "Would you like to come over here?"
"I thought you'd never ask," Dean answers, and then he's there, straddling Castiel's legs and kissing him with all of the passion that was built up during the day through their small touches and quick pecks. There's some lip biting and a hell of a lot of tongue twisting before they finally come up for air.
Dean shifts his weight, not sure how to act. His erection is very, very obvious in his thin cotton pants, and he's fairly certain that he can make out a responding line against Castiel's considerably baggier pair.
He decides to take a risk, trusting Castiel to speak up if he does something wrong. Very carefully, keeping his eyes locked with the pair that he waxed poetically and drunkenly about almost a full day ago, he slides his right hand from Castiel's shoulder to his crotch.
Castiel lets out a strangled grasp. His own hands tighten on Dean's shoulders, and that is very definitely an erection that Dean is palming right now. Castiel rocks into his nimble fingers, a low moan escaping his throat. "Dean."
"You like that?" he asks, and his only answer is a short nod and another one of those moans that almost makes Dean come right then and there. To Dean's never-ending delight, though, Castiel isn't so distracted that he forgets to wriggle back further onto the bed, pulling Dean along. Then they're sitting close together, Castiel's back against the wall and Dean with his legs on either side of Castiel's.
Dean lets his fingers trail up Castiel until he's feeling the skin under his shirt. He spreads his hand out on the flat of his belly, just letting himself feel. Castiel closes his eyes and breathes in sharply, like even that more-or-less innocent touch is sending heat down to his groin. Fuck, it certainly is to Dean.
"You want more?" he asks, leaning in to whisper against the gentle curve of Castiel's ear. "Huh?" His tongue flicks out, tracing a line along its arch.
"Of course I do," Castiel replies, so testily that Dean almost laughs. And then that thought is driven quickly from his mind, because Castiel's hand is suddenly gripping his dick, running his fingers up and down its length.
"Holy shit, Cas!" Dean arcs up into the touch, and without really thinking about it, reaches down to do the same to Cas. It's the first time he's ever had his hand on a cock that wasn't his, but that's okay. He's a quick learner, and judging by how Dean is about a second away from coming right now, Castiel is a fucking good teacher.
They sleep in Castiel's bed that night, both of them plenty sober and aware of what they're doing. Cas curls against the wall, Dean risks falling off if he decides to thrash about in the middle of the night-but for the most part, Castiel is a warm and comforting weight to hold, and even if Dean loathes the idea of cuddling with every fiber of his being, he has to admit that this is pretty comfortable.
Vacation passes by in a blur. Some of it is spent in the barn, other days, riding through the snowy fields that make up Singer's land. Dean takes Impala, of course, while Balthazar and Castiel each take one of the horses from Heaven that Balthazar brought with him. Sam is left on one of the barn's horses, a young black gelding named Charger. Dean hates him, but Sam thinks that despite not being much of a horse person, he might be able to go for Charger.
New Year's Eve finds he and Balthazar in the dining room of Singer's, milling about with the other staff and students who stayed behind. Dean and Castiel are there for the first hour, but leave before the clock actually ticks to midnight. Both of them claim tiredness as the reason. No one there believes them.
"They're going to fuck," Balthazar says casually to Sam, and Sam almost spits out the sparkling cider that he's drinking. It's not even like Balthazar can blame that comment on being intoxicated; there's no wine in sight.
"That's my brother you're talking about! And one of my friends."
"What? It's not like I said something scandalous." He shrugs, completely unruffled. "They're more or less dating, and they've been making googly eyes at each other all week. And I know Castiel. He has that pre-coital glow about him."
Sam glares at the smarmy Heavener, but there isn't much he can say to deny it. And it probably is true, not that Sam wants to dwell on that thought too long. But there aren't many other reasons why two guys who've already made out would sneak off at nighttime.
Come New Year's Day, Balthazar goes back to Heaven. He stands next to the set of Heavenly steeds all hooked up to their carriage in the icy courtyard, looking as faintly amused as ever. Sam has come to know him well enough to see a tiny bit of regret around his edges, though.
He hugs Castiel tightly before he goes, winking at Dean over his shoulder. "You take care of Cassie, now. I don't want him getting hurt. Otherwise, I just might have to come out here and shed some blood of my own, you hear?"
It's said as a joke, but both Sam and Dean have seen Castiel and Balthazar practicing their skills with the knives from Heaven. And from what they've seen, Balthazar could very well get the jump on either of them.
"Course I will." Dean claps a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Bye, Balthazar."
"Goodbye, Dean. And goodbye, Sam." Balthazar nods at him, and Sam nods back. There's not much to say. As Balthazar and his horses begin the journey back to Heaven, it occurs to Sam that this is it. The Solstice has passed, they're in a new year. There's very little else to do now except go through the motions of schooling to keep Lucifer and Michael from getting suspicious. The only thing separating him, Dean, and Castiel from freedom is time.
Chapter Six