a better method of pretending (dean/cas big bang 2k11) (2)
They eat in the little area with the mini fridge, microwave, and cups, around a too small table. Dean and Castiel are cramped on one side and Ruby and Sam are cramped on the other, elbows nearly bumping.
“So you’re the infamous Castiel Novak, huh?” Sam says cheerfully, scooting his chair over slightly. Ruby gives him a relieved look and mouths a thank you and Dean’s mouth twitches with a smile. When did Sam become such a gentleman?
“Infamous?” Castiel glances at Dean with a quirked eyebrow. “I don’t believe I deserve such a title, but…” He trails off and smiles. “Yes, I am.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you! I would shake your hand, but…You know.”
Castiel nods and chuckles. “I understand. It’s a small table. Why don’t we eat in the cafeteria?”
“No time,” Dean explains as he takes a bite of his sandwich. “We’re a little late.” He nods jerkily at the clock which reads 12:09. “Lunch starts at noon, ends promptly at 12:25. We have to be back in less than twenty minutes.”
“Mm, that’s not so bad.”
“Aren’t you going to eat?” It’s Ruby who speaks up this time, addressing Castiel.
Castiel laughs. “Not today, I don’t think. So, you’re Ruby, right?”
Ruby glances quickly at Dean, then at Sam. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“You wouldn’t happen to be related to an Anna, would you? Anna Milton?”
Ruby looks slightly worried. “Um.”
“Ah, I’m sorry.” Sam touches her shoulder lightly. “I mentioned you to Dean a couple of times, he must have uh…Mentioned you to Mr. Novak.” Sam shoots Dean a quick glare and mouths ‘what the hell’. Dean just shrugs, makes his most casual face.
“I apologize,” Castiel says slightly, and Dean watches him from the corner of his eye. “Mr. Smith mentioned you in passing when he mentioned Mr. Wesson earlier today and he said your last name and it got me curious.”
“Well, yes,” Ruby says, a little less nervously. “I’m related to Anna. She’s my cousin. How do you know her?”
“She’s one of my closest friends.” Castiel smiles, folding his hands in his lap under the table. Dean feels kind of awestruck at this new personality of Castiel’s but he’s pretty sure it’s a wall. A barrier to keep these other people from thinking he’s not good enough. That he’s some kind of prick. Dean licks his lips and continues to eat his sandwich. “I’ve known her since I was very, very young. Since we were children. She lived down the street from me when I lived in Maine, when I was young.”
“Huh!” Ruby sits back in her chair and looks at Sam, then Dean. “That’s amazing. I didn’t know she knew anyone famous.”
Castiel laughs, and though it’s meant to be light and casual, Dean can hear the tenseness in it. “I don’t know if the word famous really describes me,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m hardly that well known outside of what I do.”
“You’re a writer though, aren’t you?” Ruby pushes, leaning forward again, forgetting about her meal. “Like, besides journalism, you’ve written books.”
“I’ve written a book,” Castiel corrects and Dean makes a mental note to check the book out from the library if they have it. “And I wouldn’t call it very good, either.” Castiel makes a face, sort of blanching. “If I could wipe it off the face of the Earth, I would gladly.”
Sam snorts. “That’s all I ever hear a writer say,” he says with a short eye roll. “No one’s ever proud of their own work, no one can accept that they’re good, especially people and their words. Writers and artists, I swear, you guys are the worst.” He grins to make up for his words and Castiel eyes him steadily and then smiles a bit.
“Except Dean.” This time Sam is grinning wickedly in Dean’s direction. Dean goes still, watching Sam cautiously. “Dean is always proud of his work.”
“Is that so?” Castiel says, turning his head to look at Dean. “Would you say you’re a prideful person?”
Dean huffs, sandwich gone. He takes a drink of his Brisk. “I wouldn’t say that. I’m not arrogant, I’m very aware of my origins and myself. I worked hard to get here and I know that. I don’t take it for granted. I do what I’m asked to do and I don’t put up with bullshit.” He glowers for a split second at Sam. “And you know that, too.”
Sam’s still smirking. “Whatever, you know I’m just teasing.”
Dean glares.
Ruby laughs.
-
“Sam is a funny kid.”
“He’s not really a kid.” Dean sits down at the computer and groans at the new e-mail. “Who fucked up this time?” he mutters, mostly to himself. He doesn’t pay attention as Castiel moves over to the door and begins to rummage through the case he brought. He doesn’t notice what Castiel’s even taken out until he hears the ‘vroom’ of the laptop turning on. He glances up for a second to watch Castiel set the computer on his lap, but then glances back at his own. It’s not any of his business, but he can’t help feeling a little anxious all of the sudden.
“He’s younger than both of us. At least by four years. What brought you two together, anyway?” Castiel doesn’t look up from his laptop screen, fingers tapping against the keys quickly, much faster than Dean’s can move.
“Well, he helped…He helped out the entire company a few months ago. I mean, no one really knows except me, it was a weird thing, don’t worry about it.” He laughs a bit. “What really brings us together, though? That’s a good question, I don’t really know. He’s more like you in a lot of ways. He’s humorous, he’s kind. But he can be harsh. He’s very honest, he doesn’t like it when people fib to get what they want.” Dean smiles and clicks out a message. “He keeps me in line.”
“Does he…?” Castiel murmurs absently. There’s a moment of silence between them, besides both of them typing out messages (or whatever Castiel is typing).
Finally, Dean can’t help his curiosity. “What are you doing?”
Castiel looks up this time, meeting his eyes. “Writing,” he answers simply and Dean’s stomach knots.
“Writing…?” he prompts for more information.
Castiel smiles as if he knows exactly what Dean is thinking. “No, not the article. Goodness, I’ve been here three days, it’s not time for me to fix everything yet. Though I…I did delete the other one. It’s a little late, the damage is done, but it’s minimal.” Dean is surprised to hear that and he sits, a bit stunned for a moment, unsure what to say. He wants to say ‘thank you’ but the words aren’t forming properly. “I’m writing a short story.”
“R-really?” Dean finds he can talk again. “And, uhm. Thank you.” He feels foolish for the way he has a hard time speaking. He clears his throat. “For deleting the article. I know that…” He trails off. “I’m going to end up repeating myself. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Castiel says, letting out a breath and smiling slightly. “You proved yourself to me. It was enough. Though who knows what I’ll say next time.”
Dean can hear the teasing tone in his voice though and grins. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Would you be mad if I checked out your book?”
Castiel blinks and looks up from the laptop’s screen. He studies Dean for a minute, as if trying to figure out his motives and then sighs, a little huffily. “I can’t stop you, can I?”
Dean shrugs. “You could threaten me.”
“Black mail,” Castiel snickers, “Classy. I wouldn’t do that.”
Dean shrugs again, making his chair move in half circles. “Maybe not, but I figured it was probably better to ask you before I did anything.”
Castiel presses his lips together and continues to watch Dean. Dean tries not to be bothered, tries to act natural - it doesn’t work. He has to avert his eyes and he ends up looking at his computer again, staring at the numbers which seem to sort of blur.
“You can read it. I can’t assure you’ll like it.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s a fairy tale.”
Dean didn’t think there was anything else Castiel could say that would catch him by surprise. However, he’s also come to the conclusion that he’s easily proven wrong. He stares, dumbfounded, as Castiel begins to smile just slightly. He eventually laughs when Dean just continues to stare, shaking his head in amusement.
“It’s about a boy who loses his soul, and he has to find it…But he’s not normal, you see, because his soul is his conscience. He does terrible things along the way, because his soul is trapped. He doesn’t remember what it feels like to not have a soul, he doesn’t understand love, but of course he finds a beautiful woman who convinces him not to give up and loves him despite his cruelty. Of course he finds his soul…but I shouldn’t spoil it.” Castiel’s eyes are strangely soft, almost glowing with fondness. Perhaps he likes the story more than he lets on.
“A little heavy for a fairy tale, huh?” Dean breathes, scratching his neck. “I mean…Souls. That’s deep stuff.”
Castiel shakes his head. “It really isn’t. It’s not impressive…Like I said earlier, I don’t like it much. It’s not a popular work, obviously - you’ve never heard of it and you know who I am. Ruby exaggerated, calling me famous.” Castiel snorts as if it’s ridiculous. “But…I enjoy writing about things that can’t exist. I spend so much time putting together articles about real people and their problems, and it all seems so vain and empty sometimes that it’s good for me to stretch my mind in other ways.”
They sit in silence together for a moment, Dean mauling over this new information. It makes Castiel seem less unbreakable. Not that he suddenly seems fragile; but rather, he seems elastic, bendable. Not so rigid. Dean’s not sure how this all happened so fast, but he feels…lighter. He feels better about it.
Castiel is watching him again. “Any more questions?”
Dean swallows. “No, I’m fine.”
Castiel smiles. “Good.”
Dean notes that he doesn’t look so sick anymore.
-
Though they’re not as awkward around each other anymore, Castiel still expresses annoyance at being bored for most of the day.
“Yeah, well, thanks to you I’m not allowed to take my vacation.” Dean glowers slightly at Castiel who rolls his eyes. “I had to cancel my visit to the Florida Keys. So fuck you very much, but deal with it.”
Castiel groans. “It’s not my fault your boss contacted me,” he points out, and though he has a point, Dean ignores it. “It’s also not my fault your job sucks.”
“Yeah, well, suck it up. You can sulk all you want, but you just have to admit that this is what we do. Considering you’re a journalist, no one expects you to understand.” Dean sips from his coffee and begins to type out another e-mail to his mom. He should probably call her tonight, maybe even his dad. Though he’s been avoiding them.
Castiel is still a little squirmy. “Isn’t lunch soon?”
Dean glances at the clock on his computer. “Christ, you are impatient. Lunch is in an hour, it’s only eleven. You’ve been here since eight and you’re already bitching? Do you seriously still not know the routine?” Dean snaps, perhaps clicking a little too hard at the keys on his computer. Though his message to his mother is ‘loving’, the way he’s typing it is quite angrily. He licks his lips and refocuses.
“Maybe I just like fucking with you.”
Dean resists the urge to throw his cup and doesn’t look at Castiel as he speaks. “You’re a dick,” he amends, “a dick that gets a paycheck for doing nothing.”
“Yep,” Castiel agrees with a short laugh. “Being a journalist isn’t so bad, as long as people actually care what you’re writing. Don’t worry, it sucked ass for the first couple of years. I couldn’t get anyone to read my articles.”
“And why would that be?” Dean asks broodingly, though he’s really not that worried, nor does he care that much. “Is it because you actually wrote nice things?”
“Ding, ding, ding! Congratulations, you win.”
“Seriously?” Dean pauses midsentence to look at Castiel and blows out a huff of air. “I didn’t realize you could do that.”
“What?” Castiel gives the smallest pout, something that would be unrecognizable if Dean hadn’t seen it a couple of times before at lunch or when he came back with shit coffee. “You don’t think I can be nice? I can be.”
He looks away then, as if remembering something unpleasant. “But the business doesn’t call for polite. I’ve long since gotten over that.”
“Did you want to be a journalist in high school?”
“Did you want to be a Head of Marketing?” Castiel shoots back sharply, and Dean thinks to himself that he’s hit a nerve.
He answers honestly. “Nope. Not that all.”
Castiel looks at a loss for words and Dean continues. “I wanted to be a teacher, actually. I wanted to teach kids, like, first through fourth graders or something. It was my secret dream up until senior year, when I had a revelation that I could not handle children all day. I ended up joining a marketing club because I figured…Hey, I can do this. I can handle adults and their little problems and numbers made sense to me too, in a way. Not the most enjoyable work but at least I wouldn’t feel so stressed out all the time. And I like it, to an extent.”
“You wanted to be a teacher…” Castiel breathes as if he’s in awe of the fact. Dean watches him for a moment, gauging his reaction. Perhaps his honesty will lead to the same from Castiel. “I can…I can kind of see that.” Castiel tilts his head and frowns, meeting Dean’s eyes. “That would be cute.”
It’s Dean’s turn to be caught off guard and he tugs at his tie without really thinking about it, feeling its restriction around his throat. “Ah, uhm.” He swallows and shakes his head. “That’s not the point.”
“What is the point, then?”
“I told you something about me. Your turn.” Dean steadies himself, affirming his gaze with Castiel.
Castiel scowls and mutters something about that not being the point, either. He’s quiet but Dean stares him down and he finally says, “I wanted to be a director, okay? There! You know. I wanted to be a film major, I wanted to write scripts, I wanted to do everything. Produce, act, create. I wanted to be the name they roll on the credits three times. But I’m not, alright? I only get a part of that.”
Dean licks his lips and watches Castiel twitch nervously. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Castiel answers quietly, though it’s a lie if Dean’s ever heard one. “I just don’t like to talk about it.”
“Why?” Dean hedges. Castiel shoots him a sharp look and he knows he’s invading but he can’t find it in him to really care.
“I had a dream. Once I was a person who was really dead set on life. I knew what I wanted. Now, I don’t. Fucking marvelous, don’t you think? Now, I’m stuck in an office with a prick who gave up before he even started, and I’m supposed to write but how the hell do I do that? I’m not a writer, just like you’re not a teacher. I just force words out. It’s not a good thing. I just need to. If I didn’t write, I’d die. I’d…Implode or something. Just like I imagine you if you didn’t sit at this fucking desk, and drink your fucking coffee, and eating your fucking salad.”
There’s a soft knock on the door. Dean twitches and looks up.
“Am I interrupting something?” It’s Zachariah. Dean’s blood runs cold. Castiel looks absolutely mortified and his face turns a couple of shades of red, blotches on his cheeks. He stands up though, manages to act professional.
“Hello, sir.” They shake hands, Castiel ducking his head after he makes the necessary eye contact. Dean can feel his palms sweating over the keys. He can’t really move, and he wonders how Castiel is managing it.
“Good morning, Mr. Novak. And Dean, hello. How have things been going between you two?” He glances at Dean and smiles, then at Castiel, showing no sign that he heard what Castiel had been complaining about, though there’s no way he missed at least the last couple of words. Dean swallows and forces himself to speak in a normal tone.
“Things have been fine, really. Nothing out of the ordinary,” he assures Zachariah, who smiles a little slyly. “We were just talking.”
“Of course you were. Sorry it took me so long to stop by again.” Zachariah looks at Castiel apologetically. “Busy, busy, busy. I really hope that you’re enjoying Mr. Smith’s company. He’s a great employee.”
Castiel smiles, back to his old self. “He is,” he agrees smoothly. “It was good seeing you, sir.”
“Ah, don’t call me sir, just call me Zach.” Zachariah winks and then salutes, waving as he leaves the room. Castiel closes the door and they both collapse into their chairs at the same time.
“That was scary,” Dean breathes, rubbing his hand against his forehead.
“Fuck,” Castiel whispers shakily, “He comes across as so nice and normal but…”
“But it’s actually downright terrifying?” Dean finishes, nodding. “I could hardly breathe.”
Castiel nods, and they both catch their heartbeats, calming down.
Castiel glances at his watch. “So,” he says slowly, “is it lunch time yet?”
It’s five minutes till, but Dean allows him the break. Whatever they were talking about just doesn’t seem to matter anymore.
-
They end up eating in Dean’s office again instead of with Sam and Ruby.
“So, they’re uh, dating now, right?” Castiel asks over his cafeteria burger. He eyes it with slight contempt and takes careful, coordinated bites and sips of his milk. Dean doesn’t find the fact that Castiel is basically eating a high school meal at all endearing, actually, because that would be sort of stupid.
“Sam and Ruby? I guess so. I certainly haven’t talked to him as much recently as I would like to.” Dean is honestly a little disappointed in his friend, and feels ignored. He’s just relieved that he and Castiel are getting along pretty well now because otherwise he would feel especially lonely and isolated, both of which are feelings he’s not very fond of. “They’re cute.”
“They are,” Castiel agrees. “I wonder why they work so well.”
Dean shrugs, though he’s wondered the same thing on occasion. “Ruby keeps him in line. Sam keeps me in line. Huh.” He takes another bite of his salad and chews slowly. “It’s interesting, I’ll admit.”
Castiel quirks an eyebrow and look at him a little funnily before laughing. “I have never allowed anyone to keep me in line,” he answers, sounding a little proud. “I do what I do.” He shrugs. “No one keeps track of me - No one needs to.”
Dean shrugs as well. “It’s good to have friends, though. Isn’t it?”
Castiel shakes his heads. “Friends…ruin things. That’s why I keep two.” He holds up his index and middle finger and nods. “Uriel and Anna. They’re my friends. The end.”
“Uriel…Have I heard that name before?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. He works in the business. He’s an editor.”
“Huh…” Dean sits back a little. “It’s an uncommon name, clearly.”
“Clearly. Same with Castiel.”
“Dean Smith and Castiel Novak.”
“We’re opposites.”
Dean laughs and nods agreeably. “In more ways than just that,” he points out, scanning over his desk. “We’ve got little in common.”
“And yet…” Castiel tilts his head and gives a small frown, studying Dean for a long moment. “We get along.”
“Do we?” Dean asks cautiously, eyeing Castiel as well.
“I believe we do. We’re sitting here, aren’t we? We obviously have enough in common to keep us talking to each other.”
“Passion?” Dean rolls his shoulders. He looks away from Castiel before he continues, thinking about the earlier snappiness; how it’s obvious neither of them are too particularly invested in their own industry. “Though I’m not sure if I’m actually passionate about what I do. I mean, I like it, but that’s mostly just because…Well, it’s easy, you know? It doesn’t take much thought.” He snorts. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, I guess. It’s kind of…Not a good thing. I’m supposed to be procuring a slightly more positive attitude.”
Castiel shakes his head; Dean notices that he still looks a little sick, like he didn’t get enough sleep, but also calmer than earlier. “I won’t mention it,” he promises, and he’s smiling just enough for Dean to take notice. “I kind of admire that about you, I think. You are a very honest person.”
“Am I?” Dean’s always questioned that part of himself. Whether he’s actually honest, or if he’s lying to himself. It’s not something he particularly likes to think about - his stomach does a weird little flip and he shakes his head, dispelling his nerves. “Doesn’t matter, I guess,” he says, trying to retain his casualness. “We get along, for whatever reason. Maybe we just have something in common that we don’t know about yet.”
“Possible,” Castiel answers, nodding. “What are we supposed to do about it?”
“Nothing. What’s there to do?” Dean’s not sure where this conversation is going, or even if he wants to know. “It is what it is. Can’t we just accept that?”
Castiel clicks his tongue three times, sharply. Dean wonders if that’s a habit for him, something he does when he’s annoyed or amused (Dean’s not sure which emotion is more appropriate, or if it’s just a combination of both). “You’re strange,” he accuses, and Dean frowns. “You play the role of the conservative head of staff or whatever-the-fuck, obviously someone who wants to play the straight and narrow and yet…” Castiel narrows his eyes as if looking further into Dean. “There is something…Off about you. I can’t shake it. You’re different.”
Dean clears his throat and has to avert his eyes because Castiel is looking at him to intently. “I…don’t know what you’re talking about, honestly.” He shifts nervously in his seat, suddenly feeling aches throughout his entire body. “But uhm, thank you, or something?” He’s uncertain what to say, how to phrase it. “You’re not what I expected either.”
Castiel leans back, though his gaze is still sharp. “Not exactly what I meant,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s not so much that you’re not what I expected - though you aren’t, in some ways - but rather something else. Some…vibe about you that makes you different. Different than most of the employees around here, if not all of them. I don’t know. You seem more…Alive. I don’t know how to really explain it. It’s foolish.”
“I don’t know,” Dean breathes, “you feel different, too.”
Castiel’s eyes somehow seem darker. “Perhaps.”
-
Castiel knows that this is a bad idea; he knows that this could ruin his career, snap things in two so easily that he wouldn’t be able to fix things. He’s been in the building with Dean Smith for approximately two and a half weeks and though he is restless, sure, he has no excuse for this. He looks at Dean though and thinks fuck it and dives right in, completely reckless.
“You’re still here.”
Castiel sets down the photograph he had been holding, the same one of Dean and Jo, their arms wrapped around each other’s waists. Perhaps Dean has put it there with a different motive. Maybe he wants people to assume Jo is his wife; girlfriend. Whatever.
The thing about being a writer, Castiel knows, is that reading people is much easier. Sure, mistakes can be made, but for the most part people are easier to understand than they believe. People think they’re hiding so well; keeping things to themselves and keeping secret hidden, but all secrets are just unrevealed truths. You just don’t know them - yet. Castiel plans on finding out Dean’s secrets, if he can get away with it.
Dean doesn’t seem nervous or annoyed at the sight of Castiel in his office, touching his things. Maybe he’s just grown so accustomed to having a journalist around that it doesn’t affect him anymore. It makes Castiel almost a little sad because he wishes more people would accept that he’s not cruel and capricious, he just is.
“Do you need a ride home, or something?”
“Not…exactly.” Castiel bites his lip, wishing he had a glass of water. He’s not good at being nervous. He’s much too used to owning a room, to looking at people and making them the nervous ones. He’s supposed to have control but right now he’s just sort of…desperate. It’s crazy and scary and he takes a slow step closer to Dean, invading his personal space just barely. Dean doesn’t seem to notice or be bothered. He smiles tentatively and waits for Castiel to continue.
Castiel doesn’t say anything else. Instead he reaches out and touches Dean’s shirt, at the top of his chest, tugging at the lapels of the suit jacket he’s just put on. He pulls Dean a little closer, just barley - close enough that he can feel the hitch in his breath, see the way his eyes widen just slightly. Castiel can’t remember the last time he got a chance like this, got to be this close to someone so beautiful who seemed in awe by him. People he dropped at second glance.
Dean hasn’t pulled away, and Castiel feels an overwhelming mixture of relief and glee in his stomach. He kisses Dean, their mouths fitting awkwardly together so that rough skin scrapes painfully and teeth click just barely, a muffled noise.
Dean’s hands freeze, then hover, then finally rest lightly on Castiel’s hips. He’s not holding him there, not trying to move him at all, he just seems to want a place to put his hands and Castiel feels another surge of relief. Giddiness, too. It’s amazing, he thinks, that he’s kissing Dean Smith, the guy who’s supposed to be steel and alone. He’s kissing him and he’s kissing back, even - his breath is hot on Castiel’s tongue and he’s never tasted anything as good as the faded taste of Dean’s mouth, the breath mint, the hint of chocolate from the peppermint patty he had earlier that afternoon (Castiel had perhaps watched as Dean took quick bites, then licks his fingers). It feels so incredibly intense and it’s dim in Dean’s office and Castiel thinks this might just last forever, and that he wouldn’t complain if it did. He could kiss Dean Smith until he keeled over and died.
Then there is the rough push of a hand, the soft word in his mouth, “Stop.” And he does, immediately, because even though it hurts, he wants more not to hurt Dean.
Dean’s pale skin is flushed, whether because he’s embarrassed or surprised, Castiel can’t tell (but he can still see every one of his freckles). He’s breathless but seems calm, his chest rising as he takes in deep breaths, but they don’t seem desperate and rushed. Castiel has to think to get his breathing to stay steady, but mostly he wants to grab Dean again and kiss him against the wall until he moans for more.
Then he realizes what’s happening, and he steps back, out of Dean’s bubble. “I’m sorry,” he says clearly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “That shouldn’t have happened.” Unprofessional, stupid, foolish, idiotic - how many other ways can you put it? He swallows and tries not to think of the fact that he can still taste chocolate and mint on his tongue. It’s right there and it feels far away. He notices cigarette smoke, too, and has to swallow it down. Dean’s taste burns the back of his throat in the best way.
Dean is watching him, though not with disgust. “I should level with you,” he says in a low voice, and now he’s the anxious one - Castiel is taken aback from his tone. “Yeah. Gay.”
Castiel blinks. He wants to say something like “Obviously,” in an exaggerated voice but he resists, bites down on his tongue and just stares, slightly dumbfounded.
“But this is a…This is a terrible idea.” Dean shakes his head as if he’s absolutely stunned by the ridiculousness of the situation. “I mean, you’re…You’re the polar opposite and we both want such different things. It can’t happen.” He laughs at the absurdity and Castiel’s heart falls into his stomach. He swallows at the lump in his throat and God, the word ‘moron’ doesn’t even begin to describe what he is. He feels tears burning in his eyes and he blinks hard, tries to get them to go away without revealing them. “Seriously,” Dean laughs again, though it’s unsteady, as if he’s trying to convince himself. “It couldn’t happen.”
Castiel wants to beg, but he just stares in the dark, stares until he finally realizes that Dean is also looking at him and that Dean looks like he’s struggling. Then there are soft hands on the side of Castiel’s face and he opens his mouth all the way and lets Dean Smith kiss him. Dean is a good kisser, implementing tongue and lips equally, holding Castiel carefully, cradling his face like he’s worth something and how could Castiel have missed this admiration Dean holds for him? It’s strange and a little crooked but it’s so obviously there that Castiel wants to grab and push him against the wall and make him his, wants to do all sort of crazy and possessive things because his mind won’t stay on track.
“We shouldn’t.” Dean’s words contradict his actions as he presses close against Castiel, into his desk. “We really, really shouldn’t.” It’s the ultimate cliché, it’s absolutely horrible but for some reason, that doesn’t bother Castiel the writer, who’s supposed to know all about this kind of stuff. Instead he just sighs softly and grabs for Dean again, because he still wants to prove something.
This kiss is messier, something that deals more with claiming, and Castiel can feel Dean melting into it, becoming more comfortable. He feels sparks and twinges in his belly, the wave of arousal and God, this is all kinds of wrong, this is all kinds of bad but he can’t stop - he wants to reach into Dean’s mouth and taste everything about him, ever. He wants to touch his skin and he doesn’t want to stop, and he finds himself pushing at Dean’s jacket, over his shoulders and onto the floor. It’s ridiculous because in his head, he knows what’s happening now won’t keep happening but he can’t stop. He presses his inner thigh against Dean’s outer thigh, brings them so close together that he can feel the heat of Dean’s skin, the softness of his pant leg and it’s so not what he was expecting.
Then it’s gone and that was exactly what Castiel had been expecting, and all he can do to keep himself held up is to clutch the sides of the desk. Dean looks flustered, face patched with red and he runs a hand through his gelled hair quickly - it spikes when he does so instead of laying down flat and God, that’s sort of cute - and then he’s shaking his head, turning in circles and looking horrified, sickened. Castiel doesn’t want him to look like that but he’s too shaken to reach out; to do something about it.
“I can’t believe I just let you do that,” he hears Dean whisper, barely above the sound of a breath, and he spins around and then finally looks at Castiel, mouth open slightly as if he’s still shocked by the turn of events. “I can’t believe I just did that. Jesus Christ, Cas,” and Castiel blinks a little and tries to regain his sense of - his sense of something, he can’t really think of the word right now.
“God, I’m sorry,” he manages, and his voice is hoarse. He feels a rush of humiliation and it’s one of those What the fuck were you thinking? situations. He’s the flustered one now, blushing and looking away, refusing to make eye contact. He purses his lips and stares at the coat on the floor, waiting for Dean to pick it up.
“Look, I…If you really need a ride home, I’ll take you.” Dean’s voice is quiet - gentle, as if understanding, and it’s by that that Castiel knows that Dean’s got the completely wrong impression. Really, though, he’s not sure what impression Dean should have, or that he wants Dean to have. “I’m sorry but…You know, this is just…It’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever done.” Dean laughs, short and a little sharp, looking slightly panicked. “Obviously I’m not very - you know, I just kind of…” He trails off and moves his hand to his hair again. “I’m sorry. I fucked up.”
Castiel wants to be the one apologizing, wants to tell Dean that no, it’s not his fault - it’s Castiel’s fault, it’s clearly his fault because he brought this all on but it’s like the lump in his throat swallowed the words for him and they won’t come on. Cas thinks that even if he could get them to come out, they’d be a jumbled mess and he’d just make a fool of himself.
“I’m sorry,” he says again thickly, and he stands up straight. “I don’t need a ride home.”
He wants to say a lot more, make a more certain apology but he can’t say anything, can’t even begin to explain himself. He doesn’t know why he did what he did - how can he put it into words so that Dean will understand?
Because he can’t think of anything to say, anything that will make sense, he clips past Dean and moves out of the room.
Down the hall.
He can only hear his own footsteps, and it’s disappointing but it’s also reassuring. He hadn’t expected to be followed, because why would Dean do that? What is he expecting? What should he expect from Dean? Nothing. That’s what he can expect, because that’s all he deserves.
Now he just has to convince himself that he’ll be okay. That he truly is the unstoppable force that he makes himself out to be to everybody around him.
-
Dean is staring at his phone, contemplating dialing the number. He doesn’t want to, but at the same time he thinks he’s going to explode if he doesn’t. Finally, he taps the numbers out and holds the phone to his ear, waiting and tapping his foot. He notices his own impatience and takes a deep breath, refocusing.
“Dean? What’s up?”
Sam sounds slightly surprised, but not annoyed. Dean feels guilt in the pit of his stomach, and he squirms a bit. He had promised Sam he wouldn’t call tonight; wouldn’t do anything unless it was an emergency. This is the closest to an emergency he’s ever had, though. He was literally shaking the whole drive home, and he hasn’t had a panic attack since he was sixteen and he got left at the museum during an art history field trip. So - this is just about an ‘emergency’.
“I’m really sorry,” he manages, and God, he hadn’t expected his voice to be so off center. “Look, I just…I’m really, really sorry.”
“Hey, Dean, it’s okay, come on, calm down.” Sam is always the voice of reason, and he can hear Sam moving, the shuffle of fabric or skin which Dean assumes to be Sam putting his palm over the receiver. The sound is muffled, but he can still make out Sam apologizing to Ruby and his guilt grows, enough that he has to grab a kitchen chair and lower himself slowly.
A minute later, Sam speaks up again, obviously in another room. “Dean?”
“Yeah, I’m still here.”
“What happened?”
“Castiel…He…” Dean feels light headed and he trails off. It sounds so much simpler in his head, but somehow the word ‘kiss’ will not come out, will not form itself on his tongue. And it’s not like it was a one-sided thing, which maybe freaks Dean out even more. He kissed Castiel too, a lot, and even though he said ‘we shouldn’t do this’ he had really wanted to.
Which is wrong in so many ways.
“Dean, spit it the fuck out, I can’t read your mind!” Sam sounds more nervous than annoyed, and Dean laughs a bit, though it’s forced and humorless.
“He kissed me.” His voice is airy, and he leans back, pressing a hand over his eyes. “Fuck, Sam. He kissed me.”
There’s a moment of silence, the only sound the way the phone buzzes, barely audible.
“Holy shit,” he hears Sam breathe, and he feels it all kind of crash into him at once. “Holy shit, Dean! Did you kiss him back? Was it fantastic? What did he taste like? Did you do anything else?”
Dean goes limp with surprise. “W-What?” he stutters, and then he starts shaking his head, despite the fact that Sam can’t see him. “Oh, oh my god. No! No, of course not, Jesus, Sam, why do you always…?”
“Oh. It wasn’t a good thing?” Sam sounds a little confused.
“Are you - Are you fucking with me?” Dean growls, standing up and walking out of the kitchen. “Of course this isn’t a good thing! How could you possibly think - Do you think I’m gay?” He’s suddenly bewildered, overwhelmed by all the implication of Sam’s reaction. He had thought he had been doing pretty well, keeping it covered up - Jo on his desk, quiet about those times he snuck a guy from a bar or a club or a gym home with him. He never mentioned it because it wasn’t anyone’s business but his own, but maybe he fucked up somewhere.
“You’re my best friend, Dean. It’s pretty fucking obvious. But - We’re not gonna talk about that on the phone. Look, just drink some water, find some sleeping pills and get a good night’s rest, okay? It’s a Friday night, and you have all weekend before you have to see him again. You can…consider everything over that period. And hey, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? At noon? So don’t you be sleeping in too late.”
“I…Uh, okay. Okay, please do call me. I’m sorry for interrupting your date. I know it wasn’t exactly…the emergency you meant.” Dean forces out a short laugh.
“It’s fine,” Sam emphasizes, and Dean can hear the slight smile in the way he says it, a bit teasing. “I’m not mad, I promise. Look, I’ll call you. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Dean agrees and finally hangs up. He stares at the clock for a moment in peaceful bliss, almost calm, before everything comes back to him.
Dean’s never been a romantic, never really considered sexuality to be anything but fluid. Being gay wasn’t a specific thing, or something he felt the need to say was a part of him. He didn’t announce to his family or his friends that he was gay, and in ways it made things harder and easier. When people found out, they found out. He kept it quiet because it didn’t matter what others thought.
Dean’s philosophy has always been, and will always be, that if he’s not fucking you, it’s really not any of your business.
Relationships, however, are a completely different story. Sex is easy. Sex is languid and hot and lasts a couple of hours and then maybe you curl up with the person and they leave in the morning. Attachments, on the other hand, aren’t. He’s just not built to deal with other people, especially in a romantic sense. He’s always needed someone to prop him up, and for him, it’s always been the straight and narrow - the idea of being in a loving, committed relationship with someone is flawed because he’d be too dependent, wouldn’t be a good partner. He’s aware that it’s character flaw, and that he’s more dependent on the few people he does have close relationships then he should be, but he knows all of this, and it’s never really come up as a problem.
The crisis isn’t his sexuality. It isn’t that he’s physically, emotionally, stupidly attracted to Castiel. Because Castiel is beautiful. Castiel is all rough edges and sleek movements and blue eyes and deep voice, all of these things that captivate Dean, make him feel like he’s in a fucking whirlwind. The crisis is that he can see himself touching Castiel, kissing him on more than one occasion. The crisis is that he’d like it a lot.
But even that’s not the biggest problem. The biggest problem is that he has to deal with this for at least another two weeks. How is he going to act on Monday? Is he going to be able to pretend like everything is okay - can he pretend like he’s not thinking about Castiel in a million different, inappropriate ways now? And obviously, Dean completely lacks self-control, otherwise he would have stopped that kiss before it even got the chance to begin. Was it worth it?
Right now, his brain is just telling him that yeah, it was totally worth it. And that he should let it happen again.
He swallows and goes for the pills above the sink, taking Sam’s advice. He crawls, exhausted, into bed a good twenty minutes later, and he falls asleep a couple of minutes after that. Dreamless.
-
Anna laughs when Castiel tells him. “Fuck you!” he manages, and then he falls back onto her couch, sighing heavily. “I think I freaked him out.”
Anna’s laughter is still soft and she shakes her head slowly, smiling teasingly. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? Of course you freaked him out!” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and lets out a breath. “I can’t believe you. You basically…you mauled him in his own office, what on earth did you expect?” she continues to laugh and Castiel sits up, glaring at her.
“You think this is a joke?” he mutters darkly, then he stands up and rolls his shoulders, shaking his head. “Look, I’m an idiot, we might as well get that out of the way. I made a big mistake, kissing him.” He blanches. “I don’t even know for certain if he’s into dudes. He’s probably just awkward. God, I made a dick of myself.”
“You do that quite often,” Anna reminds him, eyeing him and still smiling. “But I’m sure everything’s going to be okay.” She claps her hands together. Always the optimistic one. “Just fine. So you say you met Ruby?”
Castiel sends her his coolest glare. “Don’t change the subject,” he half-snarls, flopping back down on the couch across from her. “How do I fix this?”
“Well,” Anna starts, slightly annoyed, “you could determine whether you misinterpreted him or not. He might well be gay, but just not ready for a relationship with oh, say, his rival?” She looks at Castiel expectantly. “Come on, not everyone has your striking confidence and ability to just…” She waves her hands in an attempt to explain Castiel’s presence. “Cas, you’re just overwhelming to some people. He might have been in shock. He probably still is, if he’s the way you make him out to be.” She shakes her head but she’s still smiling. “Look, confront him. Just…without the whole ‘confrontational’ thing you pull off so well. Don’t bullshit with this guy - He doesn’t sound like he deserves it. If you want a one-night stand, you’re going to have to tell him that, because if you want it no strings attached, you have to be honest. I don’t want some guy falling in love with you and then realizing you’re full of shit.”
Castiel looks at Anna for a moment, seriously considering what she’s just said. “I know you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. You can be a mean one sometimes.”
Anna shrugs. “I’m just being honest. You should be honest.”
Castiel licks his lips. “I don’t want a one-night stand. Not with him.” He runs a hand through his hair. “God, I feel like I’m sixteen again.” His stomach even flips for affect. “It’s been a long while.”
“Yeah, more than ten years now, huh? You haven’t been celibate that long, I assume.”
Castiel snorts. “God, no. God…”
“Alright, well I’ll just give you my advice, plain and simple. Do you like the guy? Like - seriously. Do you think he’s smart, funny, someone you could have intellectual conversation with? Is he someone who makes you think but also laugh?”
Castiel isn’t sure if he’s supposed to answer so he just stares at Anna. She laughs again. “I’ll take that as a yes. Part two - will you be able to stay professional? You’ve still got like, what, two weeks left? Can you deal with being totally hooked on this guy but still pretend like you don’t care all day before jumping his bones? I don’t know if you have that kind of self-control, Cas…” She’s teasing, but her eyes say she’s mostly serious at the same time.
Castiel nods - he’s supposed to answer. “I can do that,” he says, and then, more certainly, “I can do that.”
“Well, then, go for it. I don’t see why not.” Anna shrugs. “Just…don’t ambush him. He kissed you back but like I said, not everyone has your stellar confidence. He might still be in the closet, or scared, or afraid. Not all gays come out when they’re teens. Not all gays realize it when they’re teens.” She looks at Castiel, almost with pride. “I know you can be a good guy, a good…boyfriend.” She laughs at the word. “Give it your all, I guess? You’ve got what it takes.”
“Thanks, Anna.”
-
Dean goes into work nervous and feeling slightly sick. He ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach and tries to focus instead of being worried. He doesn’t see Sam that morning, but he gets his coffee like usual and shows up at his office as he’s expected. Castiel isn’t there yet, and Dean’s not sure what to do for a moment even though he doesn’t need to rely on Castiel’s presence to start his work. He scoffs at himself as he sits down, loosening his tie, not as nervous.
There’s no reason for him to be nervous, not really. He can just tell Castiel he’s not interested (which isn’t exactly a lie) - that he’s busy and he needs to focus and that a ‘relationship’ or whatever would just get in the way of that. It’s not that he doesn’t like Castiel, it’s just that he can’t really juggle all of the things he has going on…
“Hello.”
Dean twitches and looks up. Everything he had gathered to say slips out of his mind when he sees Castiel, his somber eyes and solemn voice. He ends up saying, “You look well rested,” and he can’t even think of a way to save that. It just sounds weird. “God, I’m sorry.” He buries his face in his hands. “Look, I…”
Castiel interrupts him before he can continue, “Don’t ‘look, I…’ at me,” he snaps, crossing his arms. He’s still leaning in the doorway, looking down at Dean with his laptop bag over his shoulder. “I thought about it for a long time, and I made a decision, okay?” Dean can tell that Castiel is at least slightly nervous as well, and it makes him feel a little better. “If you want to try this, I want to try this.” He clears his throat and shifts his weight from foot to foot slowly, watching Dean with cautious eyes.
“I…” Dean loses his train of thought before he can even really create it. “What do you mean?” He had meant to say that no, it could never work out. But for some reason, the idea of being around Castiel more often actually seems pretty appealing. It doesn’t make any sense but Dean can’t help himself.
“I mean, you and me.” Castiel shrugs. “There’s really nothing else to say.” He chuckles and shakes his head and then looks over at Dean, a little curiously. “When was the last time you fell in love?”
Dean is caught off guard and he finds himself stuttering before finally managing, “Never.”
Castiel tilts his head slightly. “Really? Never been in love? Not once.”
Dean just shakes his head no. “Well, I - have you ever been in a relationship?”
“Sure. Just not in love.”
Castiel seems to be studying him, maybe looking for a weakness or something but then he laughs. “I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything,” he says, sounding apologetic, “and I understand if you’d rather keep things completely professional. I mean, we definitely shouldn’t be obvious, that would be bad. And I mean - what I’m trying to say is, that it’s okay. To say no? Like, I’m not here to blackmail you. I would never stoop that low.” Castiel blanches like it wasn’t even a thought in his mind - Dean believes it.
“I would never accuse you of blackmailing me,” he says softly, licking his lips. “It’s just that yeah, this is sort of…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “It’s a big thing.” It can’t quite convey what he wanted to say, but it gets close. “I don’t want…” Castiel still watching him. “It just sounds stupid, no matter how many ways I try to word it. I don’t want to ruin our ‘friendship’, or whatever it is we have.” He even uses air quotes to put emphasis. “What happens will happen, I don’t know how in control of that I am.”
“You have just as much control as I do, Dean.” Castiel is now staring Dean straight down, intensely. “You can say no.”
The fact that Castiel is giving him a copout is kind of fascinating, but Dean doesn’t focus on that. “I don’t really want to say no,” he admits, “but I’m pretty sure it’s a terrible idea to say yes.”
Castiel laughs. “A bit,” he agrees, putting his hands into his pants pockets. “It might possibly be the worst idea I’ve ever had, actually,” he says as he leans his head back and against the door frame. “Not sure what I was thinking.”
He meets Dean’s gaze and Dean swallows. “I’m not sure what I was thinking either.” He hesitates and then sighs. “I’m sorry about that. I…” He’s again caught, not sure if he can say what he means. “I shouldn’t have led you on. Or whatever. That was a bad idea.”
“Dean.”
He takes another breath and lets it out through his nose. “Yeah?”
“You can just say yes. Or you can say no.”
“Well, uh, yes. Then, yes. I think I’m saying yes. What does yes mean again?”
Castiel’s slight frown blooms into a grin. “If it’s okay, I’d like to kiss you again.”
Dean gets up, somehow, he doesn’t really remember thinking about the action, just knows that suddenly he’s in the middle of the room and Castiel’s hand is over the doorknob. They’re on the fourth floor. So far up that no one will ever see them.
Castiel watches him, still giving half of a quirk of his mouth, as if he’s asking.
“Well, come on, then.”
“Right here?” Castiel is mocking him, but his voice is light enough that it holds little meaning.
“Right here. Now.”
There’s no more hesitation, Castiel taking two long strides to join Dean in the middle of the room. This kiss is dissimilar in a couple of ways; Castiel is more confident and Dean isn’t surprised this time, instead reacting, hopefully appropriately. He pushes his fingers into Cas’ hair and opens his mouth, thinking about the shape of Castiel’s lips, the roughness of his touch. They only pull apart when Dean bumps into the desk and Dean begins to laugh, quietly at first but then gaining strength until he’s leaning on Castiel’s shoulder, clutching his stomach.
“W-What’s so funny?” Castiel sounds flustered, which just makes Dean heave even further, holding Cas’ arm to keep himself steady. Dean’s eventually able to catch his breath and he looks up, face too close to Castiel’s.
“I don’t know,” he manages in between tiny ripples of laughter. “I just don’t exactly believe that this is my life right now, do you…Know what I mean?” He realizes that he’s shaking, legs trembling, and he curses quietly. “You’re making me shaky.”
“That’s a little pathetic,” Castiel says though he’s still smiling, brushing his fingers over Dean’s face. “You’re an odd one.”
“Huh. You would say that, wouldn’t you?”
Castiel nudges behind his ear, breath against his skin, words in his ear. “It’s a good thing.”
Dean closes his eyes.
This isn’t even real. It can’t be.
-
Castiel notices Sam looking between them with suspicious eyes and he smiles, sort of wants to laugh. He feels uplifted, strangely giddy but he thinks he keeps the professional air pretty well.
They’re sitting across from Sam and Ruby again, eating lunch.
“So, how’s the morning been?” Sam asks. His eyes rest on Castiel for a long moment and then he looks at Dean. Cas thinks he should be a bit bothered that Dean told Sam about the kiss but he’s not. He’s too happy to be annoyed.
“It was a good morning,” Dean answers. He and Ruby have matching salads, go figure. Cas wonders how he can make this an occasion to create some kind of bond with Sam - Sam is Dean’s best friend, it seems like the best idea. “A slow morning.” Dean doesn’t give off a single hint of what had happened earlier, or even the Friday before. He just sits and eats his salad in small bites with ranch dressing. Castiel feels a slight swell of pride. Which is maybe a little uncalled for.
“Oh, has it been…?” Sam says quietly, drawing out the words. Ruby is frowning at him now and she opens her mouth to speak but then closes it and just shakes her head. “What?” he looks at her, defensively, and Castiel is glad his attention has shifted.
“You’re just weird, that’s all. You’re being kind of a dick.” She glances up and smiles quickly at both Cas and Dean. “Excuse my language.”
“Excused,” Castiel says easily as he finishes off his yogurt. He waits a moment then says, “You done?” to Dean as he pushes his chair back, standing. “I’ll take your container.”
Dean nods and hands Cas the nearly empty salad box. “You two?” Cas says, smiling at Ruby and Sam. Sam rolls his eyes and it’s only for a split second but Castiel still catches it.
“I’m good, thank you,” Ruby says, finishing off her salad. Castiel throws out their trash and sets his tray with the others before getting back to the table. They have five minutes until they have to be back in Dean’s office. “So, Mr. Novak, you’re only hear for…What? Two weeks, now? I can’t believe you’ve already been here this long. Your thoughts?”
Castiel shrugs. “I’ve grown fonder,” he admits, not sparing Dean a glance though he can feel his eyes trained on him. “Maybe it’s you, Ruby.” He grins at her - teasing. She laughs - he can feel Sam’s glare. Worth it. “But really. It’s not my cup of tea as a job but it’s…It’s something I could grow accustomed to and maybe even learn to enjoy. Still. Writer at heart, or something. I don’t think I have another choice.”
Ruby hums agreeably. “I have a friend who’s sort of like that. You try to tear her away from a notebook or a word processor and she’ll rip your head off.” Ruby shudders and stands, closing her salad. “I’ll be right back.”
Another brief smile, then she’s gone.
“Spill the details,” Sam says, voice hushed. “Come on, you two are obviously on better terms now. Why?”
Cas feels Dean’s eyes rest on him again and tries not to smile too suspiciously.
“We made a deal,” Dean says, still looking at Cas. “We agreed.”
“Yeah, on what terms?” Sam’s voice is rushed. “Come on, she’s just talking to one of the interns, she’ll be back and then we have to go, anyway.”
“I’ll tell you about it later, Sam,” Dean says, waving his hand. “If that’s alright?” he asks, looking at Cas, more panicked.
Castiel meets his eyes for the first time that lunch. “It’s fine. Tell him whatever you’d like. It’s as much your life as it is mine. But…” Cas turns to glare at Sam. “You have to keep your mouth shut. It’s hardly any of your business even if Dean does tell you and we can’t have whatever it is getting around. Rumors are a nasty thing, and I happen to like my job, thank you very much.”
Sam lets out a breath. “Scandalous,” he whispers and then snorts. “Whatever you say, just don’t be breaking any hearts.”
“I don’t plan to.”
Sam clicks his tongue impatiently, rolls his eyes again as he stands, the bell tone sounds signaling that they’re supposed to head back to work. Back to the cubicles, the offices, in three minutes. “No one ever plans to, Cas. That’s kind of why the breaking of a heart is such a big deal.”
As Dean and Cas stand a second later, Cas supposes that’s pretty true.
part 3
“So you’re the infamous Castiel Novak, huh?” Sam says cheerfully, scooting his chair over slightly. Ruby gives him a relieved look and mouths a thank you and Dean’s mouth twitches with a smile. When did Sam become such a gentleman?
“Infamous?” Castiel glances at Dean with a quirked eyebrow. “I don’t believe I deserve such a title, but…” He trails off and smiles. “Yes, I am.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you! I would shake your hand, but…You know.”
Castiel nods and chuckles. “I understand. It’s a small table. Why don’t we eat in the cafeteria?”
“No time,” Dean explains as he takes a bite of his sandwich. “We’re a little late.” He nods jerkily at the clock which reads 12:09. “Lunch starts at noon, ends promptly at 12:25. We have to be back in less than twenty minutes.”
“Mm, that’s not so bad.”
“Aren’t you going to eat?” It’s Ruby who speaks up this time, addressing Castiel.
Castiel laughs. “Not today, I don’t think. So, you’re Ruby, right?”
Ruby glances quickly at Dean, then at Sam. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“You wouldn’t happen to be related to an Anna, would you? Anna Milton?”
Ruby looks slightly worried. “Um.”
“Ah, I’m sorry.” Sam touches her shoulder lightly. “I mentioned you to Dean a couple of times, he must have uh…Mentioned you to Mr. Novak.” Sam shoots Dean a quick glare and mouths ‘what the hell’. Dean just shrugs, makes his most casual face.
“I apologize,” Castiel says slightly, and Dean watches him from the corner of his eye. “Mr. Smith mentioned you in passing when he mentioned Mr. Wesson earlier today and he said your last name and it got me curious.”
“Well, yes,” Ruby says, a little less nervously. “I’m related to Anna. She’s my cousin. How do you know her?”
“She’s one of my closest friends.” Castiel smiles, folding his hands in his lap under the table. Dean feels kind of awestruck at this new personality of Castiel’s but he’s pretty sure it’s a wall. A barrier to keep these other people from thinking he’s not good enough. That he’s some kind of prick. Dean licks his lips and continues to eat his sandwich. “I’ve known her since I was very, very young. Since we were children. She lived down the street from me when I lived in Maine, when I was young.”
“Huh!” Ruby sits back in her chair and looks at Sam, then Dean. “That’s amazing. I didn’t know she knew anyone famous.”
Castiel laughs, and though it’s meant to be light and casual, Dean can hear the tenseness in it. “I don’t know if the word famous really describes me,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m hardly that well known outside of what I do.”
“You’re a writer though, aren’t you?” Ruby pushes, leaning forward again, forgetting about her meal. “Like, besides journalism, you’ve written books.”
“I’ve written a book,” Castiel corrects and Dean makes a mental note to check the book out from the library if they have it. “And I wouldn’t call it very good, either.” Castiel makes a face, sort of blanching. “If I could wipe it off the face of the Earth, I would gladly.”
Sam snorts. “That’s all I ever hear a writer say,” he says with a short eye roll. “No one’s ever proud of their own work, no one can accept that they’re good, especially people and their words. Writers and artists, I swear, you guys are the worst.” He grins to make up for his words and Castiel eyes him steadily and then smiles a bit.
“Except Dean.” This time Sam is grinning wickedly in Dean’s direction. Dean goes still, watching Sam cautiously. “Dean is always proud of his work.”
“Is that so?” Castiel says, turning his head to look at Dean. “Would you say you’re a prideful person?”
Dean huffs, sandwich gone. He takes a drink of his Brisk. “I wouldn’t say that. I’m not arrogant, I’m very aware of my origins and myself. I worked hard to get here and I know that. I don’t take it for granted. I do what I’m asked to do and I don’t put up with bullshit.” He glowers for a split second at Sam. “And you know that, too.”
Sam’s still smirking. “Whatever, you know I’m just teasing.”
Dean glares.
Ruby laughs.
-
“Sam is a funny kid.”
“He’s not really a kid.” Dean sits down at the computer and groans at the new e-mail. “Who fucked up this time?” he mutters, mostly to himself. He doesn’t pay attention as Castiel moves over to the door and begins to rummage through the case he brought. He doesn’t notice what Castiel’s even taken out until he hears the ‘vroom’ of the laptop turning on. He glances up for a second to watch Castiel set the computer on his lap, but then glances back at his own. It’s not any of his business, but he can’t help feeling a little anxious all of the sudden.
“He’s younger than both of us. At least by four years. What brought you two together, anyway?” Castiel doesn’t look up from his laptop screen, fingers tapping against the keys quickly, much faster than Dean’s can move.
“Well, he helped…He helped out the entire company a few months ago. I mean, no one really knows except me, it was a weird thing, don’t worry about it.” He laughs a bit. “What really brings us together, though? That’s a good question, I don’t really know. He’s more like you in a lot of ways. He’s humorous, he’s kind. But he can be harsh. He’s very honest, he doesn’t like it when people fib to get what they want.” Dean smiles and clicks out a message. “He keeps me in line.”
“Does he…?” Castiel murmurs absently. There’s a moment of silence between them, besides both of them typing out messages (or whatever Castiel is typing).
Finally, Dean can’t help his curiosity. “What are you doing?”
Castiel looks up this time, meeting his eyes. “Writing,” he answers simply and Dean’s stomach knots.
“Writing…?” he prompts for more information.
Castiel smiles as if he knows exactly what Dean is thinking. “No, not the article. Goodness, I’ve been here three days, it’s not time for me to fix everything yet. Though I…I did delete the other one. It’s a little late, the damage is done, but it’s minimal.” Dean is surprised to hear that and he sits, a bit stunned for a moment, unsure what to say. He wants to say ‘thank you’ but the words aren’t forming properly. “I’m writing a short story.”
“R-really?” Dean finds he can talk again. “And, uhm. Thank you.” He feels foolish for the way he has a hard time speaking. He clears his throat. “For deleting the article. I know that…” He trails off. “I’m going to end up repeating myself. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Castiel says, letting out a breath and smiling slightly. “You proved yourself to me. It was enough. Though who knows what I’ll say next time.”
Dean can hear the teasing tone in his voice though and grins. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Would you be mad if I checked out your book?”
Castiel blinks and looks up from the laptop’s screen. He studies Dean for a minute, as if trying to figure out his motives and then sighs, a little huffily. “I can’t stop you, can I?”
Dean shrugs. “You could threaten me.”
“Black mail,” Castiel snickers, “Classy. I wouldn’t do that.”
Dean shrugs again, making his chair move in half circles. “Maybe not, but I figured it was probably better to ask you before I did anything.”
Castiel presses his lips together and continues to watch Dean. Dean tries not to be bothered, tries to act natural - it doesn’t work. He has to avert his eyes and he ends up looking at his computer again, staring at the numbers which seem to sort of blur.
“You can read it. I can’t assure you’ll like it.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s a fairy tale.”
Dean didn’t think there was anything else Castiel could say that would catch him by surprise. However, he’s also come to the conclusion that he’s easily proven wrong. He stares, dumbfounded, as Castiel begins to smile just slightly. He eventually laughs when Dean just continues to stare, shaking his head in amusement.
“It’s about a boy who loses his soul, and he has to find it…But he’s not normal, you see, because his soul is his conscience. He does terrible things along the way, because his soul is trapped. He doesn’t remember what it feels like to not have a soul, he doesn’t understand love, but of course he finds a beautiful woman who convinces him not to give up and loves him despite his cruelty. Of course he finds his soul…but I shouldn’t spoil it.” Castiel’s eyes are strangely soft, almost glowing with fondness. Perhaps he likes the story more than he lets on.
“A little heavy for a fairy tale, huh?” Dean breathes, scratching his neck. “I mean…Souls. That’s deep stuff.”
Castiel shakes his head. “It really isn’t. It’s not impressive…Like I said earlier, I don’t like it much. It’s not a popular work, obviously - you’ve never heard of it and you know who I am. Ruby exaggerated, calling me famous.” Castiel snorts as if it’s ridiculous. “But…I enjoy writing about things that can’t exist. I spend so much time putting together articles about real people and their problems, and it all seems so vain and empty sometimes that it’s good for me to stretch my mind in other ways.”
They sit in silence together for a moment, Dean mauling over this new information. It makes Castiel seem less unbreakable. Not that he suddenly seems fragile; but rather, he seems elastic, bendable. Not so rigid. Dean’s not sure how this all happened so fast, but he feels…lighter. He feels better about it.
Castiel is watching him again. “Any more questions?”
Dean swallows. “No, I’m fine.”
Castiel smiles. “Good.”
Dean notes that he doesn’t look so sick anymore.
-
Though they’re not as awkward around each other anymore, Castiel still expresses annoyance at being bored for most of the day.
“Yeah, well, thanks to you I’m not allowed to take my vacation.” Dean glowers slightly at Castiel who rolls his eyes. “I had to cancel my visit to the Florida Keys. So fuck you very much, but deal with it.”
Castiel groans. “It’s not my fault your boss contacted me,” he points out, and though he has a point, Dean ignores it. “It’s also not my fault your job sucks.”
“Yeah, well, suck it up. You can sulk all you want, but you just have to admit that this is what we do. Considering you’re a journalist, no one expects you to understand.” Dean sips from his coffee and begins to type out another e-mail to his mom. He should probably call her tonight, maybe even his dad. Though he’s been avoiding them.
Castiel is still a little squirmy. “Isn’t lunch soon?”
Dean glances at the clock on his computer. “Christ, you are impatient. Lunch is in an hour, it’s only eleven. You’ve been here since eight and you’re already bitching? Do you seriously still not know the routine?” Dean snaps, perhaps clicking a little too hard at the keys on his computer. Though his message to his mother is ‘loving’, the way he’s typing it is quite angrily. He licks his lips and refocuses.
“Maybe I just like fucking with you.”
Dean resists the urge to throw his cup and doesn’t look at Castiel as he speaks. “You’re a dick,” he amends, “a dick that gets a paycheck for doing nothing.”
“Yep,” Castiel agrees with a short laugh. “Being a journalist isn’t so bad, as long as people actually care what you’re writing. Don’t worry, it sucked ass for the first couple of years. I couldn’t get anyone to read my articles.”
“And why would that be?” Dean asks broodingly, though he’s really not that worried, nor does he care that much. “Is it because you actually wrote nice things?”
“Ding, ding, ding! Congratulations, you win.”
“Seriously?” Dean pauses midsentence to look at Castiel and blows out a huff of air. “I didn’t realize you could do that.”
“What?” Castiel gives the smallest pout, something that would be unrecognizable if Dean hadn’t seen it a couple of times before at lunch or when he came back with shit coffee. “You don’t think I can be nice? I can be.”
He looks away then, as if remembering something unpleasant. “But the business doesn’t call for polite. I’ve long since gotten over that.”
“Did you want to be a journalist in high school?”
“Did you want to be a Head of Marketing?” Castiel shoots back sharply, and Dean thinks to himself that he’s hit a nerve.
He answers honestly. “Nope. Not that all.”
Castiel looks at a loss for words and Dean continues. “I wanted to be a teacher, actually. I wanted to teach kids, like, first through fourth graders or something. It was my secret dream up until senior year, when I had a revelation that I could not handle children all day. I ended up joining a marketing club because I figured…Hey, I can do this. I can handle adults and their little problems and numbers made sense to me too, in a way. Not the most enjoyable work but at least I wouldn’t feel so stressed out all the time. And I like it, to an extent.”
“You wanted to be a teacher…” Castiel breathes as if he’s in awe of the fact. Dean watches him for a moment, gauging his reaction. Perhaps his honesty will lead to the same from Castiel. “I can…I can kind of see that.” Castiel tilts his head and frowns, meeting Dean’s eyes. “That would be cute.”
It’s Dean’s turn to be caught off guard and he tugs at his tie without really thinking about it, feeling its restriction around his throat. “Ah, uhm.” He swallows and shakes his head. “That’s not the point.”
“What is the point, then?”
“I told you something about me. Your turn.” Dean steadies himself, affirming his gaze with Castiel.
Castiel scowls and mutters something about that not being the point, either. He’s quiet but Dean stares him down and he finally says, “I wanted to be a director, okay? There! You know. I wanted to be a film major, I wanted to write scripts, I wanted to do everything. Produce, act, create. I wanted to be the name they roll on the credits three times. But I’m not, alright? I only get a part of that.”
Dean licks his lips and watches Castiel twitch nervously. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Castiel answers quietly, though it’s a lie if Dean’s ever heard one. “I just don’t like to talk about it.”
“Why?” Dean hedges. Castiel shoots him a sharp look and he knows he’s invading but he can’t find it in him to really care.
“I had a dream. Once I was a person who was really dead set on life. I knew what I wanted. Now, I don’t. Fucking marvelous, don’t you think? Now, I’m stuck in an office with a prick who gave up before he even started, and I’m supposed to write but how the hell do I do that? I’m not a writer, just like you’re not a teacher. I just force words out. It’s not a good thing. I just need to. If I didn’t write, I’d die. I’d…Implode or something. Just like I imagine you if you didn’t sit at this fucking desk, and drink your fucking coffee, and eating your fucking salad.”
There’s a soft knock on the door. Dean twitches and looks up.
“Am I interrupting something?” It’s Zachariah. Dean’s blood runs cold. Castiel looks absolutely mortified and his face turns a couple of shades of red, blotches on his cheeks. He stands up though, manages to act professional.
“Hello, sir.” They shake hands, Castiel ducking his head after he makes the necessary eye contact. Dean can feel his palms sweating over the keys. He can’t really move, and he wonders how Castiel is managing it.
“Good morning, Mr. Novak. And Dean, hello. How have things been going between you two?” He glances at Dean and smiles, then at Castiel, showing no sign that he heard what Castiel had been complaining about, though there’s no way he missed at least the last couple of words. Dean swallows and forces himself to speak in a normal tone.
“Things have been fine, really. Nothing out of the ordinary,” he assures Zachariah, who smiles a little slyly. “We were just talking.”
“Of course you were. Sorry it took me so long to stop by again.” Zachariah looks at Castiel apologetically. “Busy, busy, busy. I really hope that you’re enjoying Mr. Smith’s company. He’s a great employee.”
Castiel smiles, back to his old self. “He is,” he agrees smoothly. “It was good seeing you, sir.”
“Ah, don’t call me sir, just call me Zach.” Zachariah winks and then salutes, waving as he leaves the room. Castiel closes the door and they both collapse into their chairs at the same time.
“That was scary,” Dean breathes, rubbing his hand against his forehead.
“Fuck,” Castiel whispers shakily, “He comes across as so nice and normal but…”
“But it’s actually downright terrifying?” Dean finishes, nodding. “I could hardly breathe.”
Castiel nods, and they both catch their heartbeats, calming down.
Castiel glances at his watch. “So,” he says slowly, “is it lunch time yet?”
It’s five minutes till, but Dean allows him the break. Whatever they were talking about just doesn’t seem to matter anymore.
-
They end up eating in Dean’s office again instead of with Sam and Ruby.
“So, they’re uh, dating now, right?” Castiel asks over his cafeteria burger. He eyes it with slight contempt and takes careful, coordinated bites and sips of his milk. Dean doesn’t find the fact that Castiel is basically eating a high school meal at all endearing, actually, because that would be sort of stupid.
“Sam and Ruby? I guess so. I certainly haven’t talked to him as much recently as I would like to.” Dean is honestly a little disappointed in his friend, and feels ignored. He’s just relieved that he and Castiel are getting along pretty well now because otherwise he would feel especially lonely and isolated, both of which are feelings he’s not very fond of. “They’re cute.”
“They are,” Castiel agrees. “I wonder why they work so well.”
Dean shrugs, though he’s wondered the same thing on occasion. “Ruby keeps him in line. Sam keeps me in line. Huh.” He takes another bite of his salad and chews slowly. “It’s interesting, I’ll admit.”
Castiel quirks an eyebrow and look at him a little funnily before laughing. “I have never allowed anyone to keep me in line,” he answers, sounding a little proud. “I do what I do.” He shrugs. “No one keeps track of me - No one needs to.”
Dean shrugs as well. “It’s good to have friends, though. Isn’t it?”
Castiel shakes his heads. “Friends…ruin things. That’s why I keep two.” He holds up his index and middle finger and nods. “Uriel and Anna. They’re my friends. The end.”
“Uriel…Have I heard that name before?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. He works in the business. He’s an editor.”
“Huh…” Dean sits back a little. “It’s an uncommon name, clearly.”
“Clearly. Same with Castiel.”
“Dean Smith and Castiel Novak.”
“We’re opposites.”
Dean laughs and nods agreeably. “In more ways than just that,” he points out, scanning over his desk. “We’ve got little in common.”
“And yet…” Castiel tilts his head and gives a small frown, studying Dean for a long moment. “We get along.”
“Do we?” Dean asks cautiously, eyeing Castiel as well.
“I believe we do. We’re sitting here, aren’t we? We obviously have enough in common to keep us talking to each other.”
“Passion?” Dean rolls his shoulders. He looks away from Castiel before he continues, thinking about the earlier snappiness; how it’s obvious neither of them are too particularly invested in their own industry. “Though I’m not sure if I’m actually passionate about what I do. I mean, I like it, but that’s mostly just because…Well, it’s easy, you know? It doesn’t take much thought.” He snorts. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, I guess. It’s kind of…Not a good thing. I’m supposed to be procuring a slightly more positive attitude.”
Castiel shakes his head; Dean notices that he still looks a little sick, like he didn’t get enough sleep, but also calmer than earlier. “I won’t mention it,” he promises, and he’s smiling just enough for Dean to take notice. “I kind of admire that about you, I think. You are a very honest person.”
“Am I?” Dean’s always questioned that part of himself. Whether he’s actually honest, or if he’s lying to himself. It’s not something he particularly likes to think about - his stomach does a weird little flip and he shakes his head, dispelling his nerves. “Doesn’t matter, I guess,” he says, trying to retain his casualness. “We get along, for whatever reason. Maybe we just have something in common that we don’t know about yet.”
“Possible,” Castiel answers, nodding. “What are we supposed to do about it?”
“Nothing. What’s there to do?” Dean’s not sure where this conversation is going, or even if he wants to know. “It is what it is. Can’t we just accept that?”
Castiel clicks his tongue three times, sharply. Dean wonders if that’s a habit for him, something he does when he’s annoyed or amused (Dean’s not sure which emotion is more appropriate, or if it’s just a combination of both). “You’re strange,” he accuses, and Dean frowns. “You play the role of the conservative head of staff or whatever-the-fuck, obviously someone who wants to play the straight and narrow and yet…” Castiel narrows his eyes as if looking further into Dean. “There is something…Off about you. I can’t shake it. You’re different.”
Dean clears his throat and has to avert his eyes because Castiel is looking at him to intently. “I…don’t know what you’re talking about, honestly.” He shifts nervously in his seat, suddenly feeling aches throughout his entire body. “But uhm, thank you, or something?” He’s uncertain what to say, how to phrase it. “You’re not what I expected either.”
Castiel leans back, though his gaze is still sharp. “Not exactly what I meant,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s not so much that you’re not what I expected - though you aren’t, in some ways - but rather something else. Some…vibe about you that makes you different. Different than most of the employees around here, if not all of them. I don’t know. You seem more…Alive. I don’t know how to really explain it. It’s foolish.”
“I don’t know,” Dean breathes, “you feel different, too.”
Castiel’s eyes somehow seem darker. “Perhaps.”
-
Castiel knows that this is a bad idea; he knows that this could ruin his career, snap things in two so easily that he wouldn’t be able to fix things. He’s been in the building with Dean Smith for approximately two and a half weeks and though he is restless, sure, he has no excuse for this. He looks at Dean though and thinks fuck it and dives right in, completely reckless.
“You’re still here.”
Castiel sets down the photograph he had been holding, the same one of Dean and Jo, their arms wrapped around each other’s waists. Perhaps Dean has put it there with a different motive. Maybe he wants people to assume Jo is his wife; girlfriend. Whatever.
The thing about being a writer, Castiel knows, is that reading people is much easier. Sure, mistakes can be made, but for the most part people are easier to understand than they believe. People think they’re hiding so well; keeping things to themselves and keeping secret hidden, but all secrets are just unrevealed truths. You just don’t know them - yet. Castiel plans on finding out Dean’s secrets, if he can get away with it.
Dean doesn’t seem nervous or annoyed at the sight of Castiel in his office, touching his things. Maybe he’s just grown so accustomed to having a journalist around that it doesn’t affect him anymore. It makes Castiel almost a little sad because he wishes more people would accept that he’s not cruel and capricious, he just is.
“Do you need a ride home, or something?”
“Not…exactly.” Castiel bites his lip, wishing he had a glass of water. He’s not good at being nervous. He’s much too used to owning a room, to looking at people and making them the nervous ones. He’s supposed to have control but right now he’s just sort of…desperate. It’s crazy and scary and he takes a slow step closer to Dean, invading his personal space just barely. Dean doesn’t seem to notice or be bothered. He smiles tentatively and waits for Castiel to continue.
Castiel doesn’t say anything else. Instead he reaches out and touches Dean’s shirt, at the top of his chest, tugging at the lapels of the suit jacket he’s just put on. He pulls Dean a little closer, just barley - close enough that he can feel the hitch in his breath, see the way his eyes widen just slightly. Castiel can’t remember the last time he got a chance like this, got to be this close to someone so beautiful who seemed in awe by him. People he dropped at second glance.
Dean hasn’t pulled away, and Castiel feels an overwhelming mixture of relief and glee in his stomach. He kisses Dean, their mouths fitting awkwardly together so that rough skin scrapes painfully and teeth click just barely, a muffled noise.
Dean’s hands freeze, then hover, then finally rest lightly on Castiel’s hips. He’s not holding him there, not trying to move him at all, he just seems to want a place to put his hands and Castiel feels another surge of relief. Giddiness, too. It’s amazing, he thinks, that he’s kissing Dean Smith, the guy who’s supposed to be steel and alone. He’s kissing him and he’s kissing back, even - his breath is hot on Castiel’s tongue and he’s never tasted anything as good as the faded taste of Dean’s mouth, the breath mint, the hint of chocolate from the peppermint patty he had earlier that afternoon (Castiel had perhaps watched as Dean took quick bites, then licks his fingers). It feels so incredibly intense and it’s dim in Dean’s office and Castiel thinks this might just last forever, and that he wouldn’t complain if it did. He could kiss Dean Smith until he keeled over and died.
Then there is the rough push of a hand, the soft word in his mouth, “Stop.” And he does, immediately, because even though it hurts, he wants more not to hurt Dean.
Dean’s pale skin is flushed, whether because he’s embarrassed or surprised, Castiel can’t tell (but he can still see every one of his freckles). He’s breathless but seems calm, his chest rising as he takes in deep breaths, but they don’t seem desperate and rushed. Castiel has to think to get his breathing to stay steady, but mostly he wants to grab Dean again and kiss him against the wall until he moans for more.
Then he realizes what’s happening, and he steps back, out of Dean’s bubble. “I’m sorry,” he says clearly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “That shouldn’t have happened.” Unprofessional, stupid, foolish, idiotic - how many other ways can you put it? He swallows and tries not to think of the fact that he can still taste chocolate and mint on his tongue. It’s right there and it feels far away. He notices cigarette smoke, too, and has to swallow it down. Dean’s taste burns the back of his throat in the best way.
Dean is watching him, though not with disgust. “I should level with you,” he says in a low voice, and now he’s the anxious one - Castiel is taken aback from his tone. “Yeah. Gay.”
Castiel blinks. He wants to say something like “Obviously,” in an exaggerated voice but he resists, bites down on his tongue and just stares, slightly dumbfounded.
“But this is a…This is a terrible idea.” Dean shakes his head as if he’s absolutely stunned by the ridiculousness of the situation. “I mean, you’re…You’re the polar opposite and we both want such different things. It can’t happen.” He laughs at the absurdity and Castiel’s heart falls into his stomach. He swallows at the lump in his throat and God, the word ‘moron’ doesn’t even begin to describe what he is. He feels tears burning in his eyes and he blinks hard, tries to get them to go away without revealing them. “Seriously,” Dean laughs again, though it’s unsteady, as if he’s trying to convince himself. “It couldn’t happen.”
Castiel wants to beg, but he just stares in the dark, stares until he finally realizes that Dean is also looking at him and that Dean looks like he’s struggling. Then there are soft hands on the side of Castiel’s face and he opens his mouth all the way and lets Dean Smith kiss him. Dean is a good kisser, implementing tongue and lips equally, holding Castiel carefully, cradling his face like he’s worth something and how could Castiel have missed this admiration Dean holds for him? It’s strange and a little crooked but it’s so obviously there that Castiel wants to grab and push him against the wall and make him his, wants to do all sort of crazy and possessive things because his mind won’t stay on track.
“We shouldn’t.” Dean’s words contradict his actions as he presses close against Castiel, into his desk. “We really, really shouldn’t.” It’s the ultimate cliché, it’s absolutely horrible but for some reason, that doesn’t bother Castiel the writer, who’s supposed to know all about this kind of stuff. Instead he just sighs softly and grabs for Dean again, because he still wants to prove something.
This kiss is messier, something that deals more with claiming, and Castiel can feel Dean melting into it, becoming more comfortable. He feels sparks and twinges in his belly, the wave of arousal and God, this is all kinds of wrong, this is all kinds of bad but he can’t stop - he wants to reach into Dean’s mouth and taste everything about him, ever. He wants to touch his skin and he doesn’t want to stop, and he finds himself pushing at Dean’s jacket, over his shoulders and onto the floor. It’s ridiculous because in his head, he knows what’s happening now won’t keep happening but he can’t stop. He presses his inner thigh against Dean’s outer thigh, brings them so close together that he can feel the heat of Dean’s skin, the softness of his pant leg and it’s so not what he was expecting.
Then it’s gone and that was exactly what Castiel had been expecting, and all he can do to keep himself held up is to clutch the sides of the desk. Dean looks flustered, face patched with red and he runs a hand through his gelled hair quickly - it spikes when he does so instead of laying down flat and God, that’s sort of cute - and then he’s shaking his head, turning in circles and looking horrified, sickened. Castiel doesn’t want him to look like that but he’s too shaken to reach out; to do something about it.
“I can’t believe I just let you do that,” he hears Dean whisper, barely above the sound of a breath, and he spins around and then finally looks at Castiel, mouth open slightly as if he’s still shocked by the turn of events. “I can’t believe I just did that. Jesus Christ, Cas,” and Castiel blinks a little and tries to regain his sense of - his sense of something, he can’t really think of the word right now.
“God, I’m sorry,” he manages, and his voice is hoarse. He feels a rush of humiliation and it’s one of those What the fuck were you thinking? situations. He’s the flustered one now, blushing and looking away, refusing to make eye contact. He purses his lips and stares at the coat on the floor, waiting for Dean to pick it up.
“Look, I…If you really need a ride home, I’ll take you.” Dean’s voice is quiet - gentle, as if understanding, and it’s by that that Castiel knows that Dean’s got the completely wrong impression. Really, though, he’s not sure what impression Dean should have, or that he wants Dean to have. “I’m sorry but…You know, this is just…It’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever done.” Dean laughs, short and a little sharp, looking slightly panicked. “Obviously I’m not very - you know, I just kind of…” He trails off and moves his hand to his hair again. “I’m sorry. I fucked up.”
Castiel wants to be the one apologizing, wants to tell Dean that no, it’s not his fault - it’s Castiel’s fault, it’s clearly his fault because he brought this all on but it’s like the lump in his throat swallowed the words for him and they won’t come on. Cas thinks that even if he could get them to come out, they’d be a jumbled mess and he’d just make a fool of himself.
“I’m sorry,” he says again thickly, and he stands up straight. “I don’t need a ride home.”
He wants to say a lot more, make a more certain apology but he can’t say anything, can’t even begin to explain himself. He doesn’t know why he did what he did - how can he put it into words so that Dean will understand?
Because he can’t think of anything to say, anything that will make sense, he clips past Dean and moves out of the room.
Down the hall.
He can only hear his own footsteps, and it’s disappointing but it’s also reassuring. He hadn’t expected to be followed, because why would Dean do that? What is he expecting? What should he expect from Dean? Nothing. That’s what he can expect, because that’s all he deserves.
Now he just has to convince himself that he’ll be okay. That he truly is the unstoppable force that he makes himself out to be to everybody around him.
-
Dean is staring at his phone, contemplating dialing the number. He doesn’t want to, but at the same time he thinks he’s going to explode if he doesn’t. Finally, he taps the numbers out and holds the phone to his ear, waiting and tapping his foot. He notices his own impatience and takes a deep breath, refocusing.
“Dean? What’s up?”
Sam sounds slightly surprised, but not annoyed. Dean feels guilt in the pit of his stomach, and he squirms a bit. He had promised Sam he wouldn’t call tonight; wouldn’t do anything unless it was an emergency. This is the closest to an emergency he’s ever had, though. He was literally shaking the whole drive home, and he hasn’t had a panic attack since he was sixteen and he got left at the museum during an art history field trip. So - this is just about an ‘emergency’.
“I’m really sorry,” he manages, and God, he hadn’t expected his voice to be so off center. “Look, I just…I’m really, really sorry.”
“Hey, Dean, it’s okay, come on, calm down.” Sam is always the voice of reason, and he can hear Sam moving, the shuffle of fabric or skin which Dean assumes to be Sam putting his palm over the receiver. The sound is muffled, but he can still make out Sam apologizing to Ruby and his guilt grows, enough that he has to grab a kitchen chair and lower himself slowly.
A minute later, Sam speaks up again, obviously in another room. “Dean?”
“Yeah, I’m still here.”
“What happened?”
“Castiel…He…” Dean feels light headed and he trails off. It sounds so much simpler in his head, but somehow the word ‘kiss’ will not come out, will not form itself on his tongue. And it’s not like it was a one-sided thing, which maybe freaks Dean out even more. He kissed Castiel too, a lot, and even though he said ‘we shouldn’t do this’ he had really wanted to.
Which is wrong in so many ways.
“Dean, spit it the fuck out, I can’t read your mind!” Sam sounds more nervous than annoyed, and Dean laughs a bit, though it’s forced and humorless.
“He kissed me.” His voice is airy, and he leans back, pressing a hand over his eyes. “Fuck, Sam. He kissed me.”
There’s a moment of silence, the only sound the way the phone buzzes, barely audible.
“Holy shit,” he hears Sam breathe, and he feels it all kind of crash into him at once. “Holy shit, Dean! Did you kiss him back? Was it fantastic? What did he taste like? Did you do anything else?”
Dean goes limp with surprise. “W-What?” he stutters, and then he starts shaking his head, despite the fact that Sam can’t see him. “Oh, oh my god. No! No, of course not, Jesus, Sam, why do you always…?”
“Oh. It wasn’t a good thing?” Sam sounds a little confused.
“Are you - Are you fucking with me?” Dean growls, standing up and walking out of the kitchen. “Of course this isn’t a good thing! How could you possibly think - Do you think I’m gay?” He’s suddenly bewildered, overwhelmed by all the implication of Sam’s reaction. He had thought he had been doing pretty well, keeping it covered up - Jo on his desk, quiet about those times he snuck a guy from a bar or a club or a gym home with him. He never mentioned it because it wasn’t anyone’s business but his own, but maybe he fucked up somewhere.
“You’re my best friend, Dean. It’s pretty fucking obvious. But - We’re not gonna talk about that on the phone. Look, just drink some water, find some sleeping pills and get a good night’s rest, okay? It’s a Friday night, and you have all weekend before you have to see him again. You can…consider everything over that period. And hey, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? At noon? So don’t you be sleeping in too late.”
“I…Uh, okay. Okay, please do call me. I’m sorry for interrupting your date. I know it wasn’t exactly…the emergency you meant.” Dean forces out a short laugh.
“It’s fine,” Sam emphasizes, and Dean can hear the slight smile in the way he says it, a bit teasing. “I’m not mad, I promise. Look, I’ll call you. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Dean agrees and finally hangs up. He stares at the clock for a moment in peaceful bliss, almost calm, before everything comes back to him.
Dean’s never been a romantic, never really considered sexuality to be anything but fluid. Being gay wasn’t a specific thing, or something he felt the need to say was a part of him. He didn’t announce to his family or his friends that he was gay, and in ways it made things harder and easier. When people found out, they found out. He kept it quiet because it didn’t matter what others thought.
Dean’s philosophy has always been, and will always be, that if he’s not fucking you, it’s really not any of your business.
Relationships, however, are a completely different story. Sex is easy. Sex is languid and hot and lasts a couple of hours and then maybe you curl up with the person and they leave in the morning. Attachments, on the other hand, aren’t. He’s just not built to deal with other people, especially in a romantic sense. He’s always needed someone to prop him up, and for him, it’s always been the straight and narrow - the idea of being in a loving, committed relationship with someone is flawed because he’d be too dependent, wouldn’t be a good partner. He’s aware that it’s character flaw, and that he’s more dependent on the few people he does have close relationships then he should be, but he knows all of this, and it’s never really come up as a problem.
The crisis isn’t his sexuality. It isn’t that he’s physically, emotionally, stupidly attracted to Castiel. Because Castiel is beautiful. Castiel is all rough edges and sleek movements and blue eyes and deep voice, all of these things that captivate Dean, make him feel like he’s in a fucking whirlwind. The crisis is that he can see himself touching Castiel, kissing him on more than one occasion. The crisis is that he’d like it a lot.
But even that’s not the biggest problem. The biggest problem is that he has to deal with this for at least another two weeks. How is he going to act on Monday? Is he going to be able to pretend like everything is okay - can he pretend like he’s not thinking about Castiel in a million different, inappropriate ways now? And obviously, Dean completely lacks self-control, otherwise he would have stopped that kiss before it even got the chance to begin. Was it worth it?
Right now, his brain is just telling him that yeah, it was totally worth it. And that he should let it happen again.
He swallows and goes for the pills above the sink, taking Sam’s advice. He crawls, exhausted, into bed a good twenty minutes later, and he falls asleep a couple of minutes after that. Dreamless.
-
Anna laughs when Castiel tells him. “Fuck you!” he manages, and then he falls back onto her couch, sighing heavily. “I think I freaked him out.”
Anna’s laughter is still soft and she shakes her head slowly, smiling teasingly. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? Of course you freaked him out!” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and lets out a breath. “I can’t believe you. You basically…you mauled him in his own office, what on earth did you expect?” she continues to laugh and Castiel sits up, glaring at her.
“You think this is a joke?” he mutters darkly, then he stands up and rolls his shoulders, shaking his head. “Look, I’m an idiot, we might as well get that out of the way. I made a big mistake, kissing him.” He blanches. “I don’t even know for certain if he’s into dudes. He’s probably just awkward. God, I made a dick of myself.”
“You do that quite often,” Anna reminds him, eyeing him and still smiling. “But I’m sure everything’s going to be okay.” She claps her hands together. Always the optimistic one. “Just fine. So you say you met Ruby?”
Castiel sends her his coolest glare. “Don’t change the subject,” he half-snarls, flopping back down on the couch across from her. “How do I fix this?”
“Well,” Anna starts, slightly annoyed, “you could determine whether you misinterpreted him or not. He might well be gay, but just not ready for a relationship with oh, say, his rival?” She looks at Castiel expectantly. “Come on, not everyone has your striking confidence and ability to just…” She waves her hands in an attempt to explain Castiel’s presence. “Cas, you’re just overwhelming to some people. He might have been in shock. He probably still is, if he’s the way you make him out to be.” She shakes her head but she’s still smiling. “Look, confront him. Just…without the whole ‘confrontational’ thing you pull off so well. Don’t bullshit with this guy - He doesn’t sound like he deserves it. If you want a one-night stand, you’re going to have to tell him that, because if you want it no strings attached, you have to be honest. I don’t want some guy falling in love with you and then realizing you’re full of shit.”
Castiel looks at Anna for a moment, seriously considering what she’s just said. “I know you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. You can be a mean one sometimes.”
Anna shrugs. “I’m just being honest. You should be honest.”
Castiel licks his lips. “I don’t want a one-night stand. Not with him.” He runs a hand through his hair. “God, I feel like I’m sixteen again.” His stomach even flips for affect. “It’s been a long while.”
“Yeah, more than ten years now, huh? You haven’t been celibate that long, I assume.”
Castiel snorts. “God, no. God…”
“Alright, well I’ll just give you my advice, plain and simple. Do you like the guy? Like - seriously. Do you think he’s smart, funny, someone you could have intellectual conversation with? Is he someone who makes you think but also laugh?”
Castiel isn’t sure if he’s supposed to answer so he just stares at Anna. She laughs again. “I’ll take that as a yes. Part two - will you be able to stay professional? You’ve still got like, what, two weeks left? Can you deal with being totally hooked on this guy but still pretend like you don’t care all day before jumping his bones? I don’t know if you have that kind of self-control, Cas…” She’s teasing, but her eyes say she’s mostly serious at the same time.
Castiel nods - he’s supposed to answer. “I can do that,” he says, and then, more certainly, “I can do that.”
“Well, then, go for it. I don’t see why not.” Anna shrugs. “Just…don’t ambush him. He kissed you back but like I said, not everyone has your stellar confidence. He might still be in the closet, or scared, or afraid. Not all gays come out when they’re teens. Not all gays realize it when they’re teens.” She looks at Castiel, almost with pride. “I know you can be a good guy, a good…boyfriend.” She laughs at the word. “Give it your all, I guess? You’ve got what it takes.”
“Thanks, Anna.”
-
Dean goes into work nervous and feeling slightly sick. He ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach and tries to focus instead of being worried. He doesn’t see Sam that morning, but he gets his coffee like usual and shows up at his office as he’s expected. Castiel isn’t there yet, and Dean’s not sure what to do for a moment even though he doesn’t need to rely on Castiel’s presence to start his work. He scoffs at himself as he sits down, loosening his tie, not as nervous.
There’s no reason for him to be nervous, not really. He can just tell Castiel he’s not interested (which isn’t exactly a lie) - that he’s busy and he needs to focus and that a ‘relationship’ or whatever would just get in the way of that. It’s not that he doesn’t like Castiel, it’s just that he can’t really juggle all of the things he has going on…
“Hello.”
Dean twitches and looks up. Everything he had gathered to say slips out of his mind when he sees Castiel, his somber eyes and solemn voice. He ends up saying, “You look well rested,” and he can’t even think of a way to save that. It just sounds weird. “God, I’m sorry.” He buries his face in his hands. “Look, I…”
Castiel interrupts him before he can continue, “Don’t ‘look, I…’ at me,” he snaps, crossing his arms. He’s still leaning in the doorway, looking down at Dean with his laptop bag over his shoulder. “I thought about it for a long time, and I made a decision, okay?” Dean can tell that Castiel is at least slightly nervous as well, and it makes him feel a little better. “If you want to try this, I want to try this.” He clears his throat and shifts his weight from foot to foot slowly, watching Dean with cautious eyes.
“I…” Dean loses his train of thought before he can even really create it. “What do you mean?” He had meant to say that no, it could never work out. But for some reason, the idea of being around Castiel more often actually seems pretty appealing. It doesn’t make any sense but Dean can’t help himself.
“I mean, you and me.” Castiel shrugs. “There’s really nothing else to say.” He chuckles and shakes his head and then looks over at Dean, a little curiously. “When was the last time you fell in love?”
Dean is caught off guard and he finds himself stuttering before finally managing, “Never.”
Castiel tilts his head slightly. “Really? Never been in love? Not once.”
Dean just shakes his head no. “Well, I - have you ever been in a relationship?”
“Sure. Just not in love.”
Castiel seems to be studying him, maybe looking for a weakness or something but then he laughs. “I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything,” he says, sounding apologetic, “and I understand if you’d rather keep things completely professional. I mean, we definitely shouldn’t be obvious, that would be bad. And I mean - what I’m trying to say is, that it’s okay. To say no? Like, I’m not here to blackmail you. I would never stoop that low.” Castiel blanches like it wasn’t even a thought in his mind - Dean believes it.
“I would never accuse you of blackmailing me,” he says softly, licking his lips. “It’s just that yeah, this is sort of…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “It’s a big thing.” It can’t quite convey what he wanted to say, but it gets close. “I don’t want…” Castiel still watching him. “It just sounds stupid, no matter how many ways I try to word it. I don’t want to ruin our ‘friendship’, or whatever it is we have.” He even uses air quotes to put emphasis. “What happens will happen, I don’t know how in control of that I am.”
“You have just as much control as I do, Dean.” Castiel is now staring Dean straight down, intensely. “You can say no.”
The fact that Castiel is giving him a copout is kind of fascinating, but Dean doesn’t focus on that. “I don’t really want to say no,” he admits, “but I’m pretty sure it’s a terrible idea to say yes.”
Castiel laughs. “A bit,” he agrees, putting his hands into his pants pockets. “It might possibly be the worst idea I’ve ever had, actually,” he says as he leans his head back and against the door frame. “Not sure what I was thinking.”
He meets Dean’s gaze and Dean swallows. “I’m not sure what I was thinking either.” He hesitates and then sighs. “I’m sorry about that. I…” He’s again caught, not sure if he can say what he means. “I shouldn’t have led you on. Or whatever. That was a bad idea.”
“Dean.”
He takes another breath and lets it out through his nose. “Yeah?”
“You can just say yes. Or you can say no.”
“Well, uh, yes. Then, yes. I think I’m saying yes. What does yes mean again?”
Castiel’s slight frown blooms into a grin. “If it’s okay, I’d like to kiss you again.”
Dean gets up, somehow, he doesn’t really remember thinking about the action, just knows that suddenly he’s in the middle of the room and Castiel’s hand is over the doorknob. They’re on the fourth floor. So far up that no one will ever see them.
Castiel watches him, still giving half of a quirk of his mouth, as if he’s asking.
“Well, come on, then.”
“Right here?” Castiel is mocking him, but his voice is light enough that it holds little meaning.
“Right here. Now.”
There’s no more hesitation, Castiel taking two long strides to join Dean in the middle of the room. This kiss is dissimilar in a couple of ways; Castiel is more confident and Dean isn’t surprised this time, instead reacting, hopefully appropriately. He pushes his fingers into Cas’ hair and opens his mouth, thinking about the shape of Castiel’s lips, the roughness of his touch. They only pull apart when Dean bumps into the desk and Dean begins to laugh, quietly at first but then gaining strength until he’s leaning on Castiel’s shoulder, clutching his stomach.
“W-What’s so funny?” Castiel sounds flustered, which just makes Dean heave even further, holding Cas’ arm to keep himself steady. Dean’s eventually able to catch his breath and he looks up, face too close to Castiel’s.
“I don’t know,” he manages in between tiny ripples of laughter. “I just don’t exactly believe that this is my life right now, do you…Know what I mean?” He realizes that he’s shaking, legs trembling, and he curses quietly. “You’re making me shaky.”
“That’s a little pathetic,” Castiel says though he’s still smiling, brushing his fingers over Dean’s face. “You’re an odd one.”
“Huh. You would say that, wouldn’t you?”
Castiel nudges behind his ear, breath against his skin, words in his ear. “It’s a good thing.”
Dean closes his eyes.
This isn’t even real. It can’t be.
-
Castiel notices Sam looking between them with suspicious eyes and he smiles, sort of wants to laugh. He feels uplifted, strangely giddy but he thinks he keeps the professional air pretty well.
They’re sitting across from Sam and Ruby again, eating lunch.
“So, how’s the morning been?” Sam asks. His eyes rest on Castiel for a long moment and then he looks at Dean. Cas thinks he should be a bit bothered that Dean told Sam about the kiss but he’s not. He’s too happy to be annoyed.
“It was a good morning,” Dean answers. He and Ruby have matching salads, go figure. Cas wonders how he can make this an occasion to create some kind of bond with Sam - Sam is Dean’s best friend, it seems like the best idea. “A slow morning.” Dean doesn’t give off a single hint of what had happened earlier, or even the Friday before. He just sits and eats his salad in small bites with ranch dressing. Castiel feels a slight swell of pride. Which is maybe a little uncalled for.
“Oh, has it been…?” Sam says quietly, drawing out the words. Ruby is frowning at him now and she opens her mouth to speak but then closes it and just shakes her head. “What?” he looks at her, defensively, and Castiel is glad his attention has shifted.
“You’re just weird, that’s all. You’re being kind of a dick.” She glances up and smiles quickly at both Cas and Dean. “Excuse my language.”
“Excused,” Castiel says easily as he finishes off his yogurt. He waits a moment then says, “You done?” to Dean as he pushes his chair back, standing. “I’ll take your container.”
Dean nods and hands Cas the nearly empty salad box. “You two?” Cas says, smiling at Ruby and Sam. Sam rolls his eyes and it’s only for a split second but Castiel still catches it.
“I’m good, thank you,” Ruby says, finishing off her salad. Castiel throws out their trash and sets his tray with the others before getting back to the table. They have five minutes until they have to be back in Dean’s office. “So, Mr. Novak, you’re only hear for…What? Two weeks, now? I can’t believe you’ve already been here this long. Your thoughts?”
Castiel shrugs. “I’ve grown fonder,” he admits, not sparing Dean a glance though he can feel his eyes trained on him. “Maybe it’s you, Ruby.” He grins at her - teasing. She laughs - he can feel Sam’s glare. Worth it. “But really. It’s not my cup of tea as a job but it’s…It’s something I could grow accustomed to and maybe even learn to enjoy. Still. Writer at heart, or something. I don’t think I have another choice.”
Ruby hums agreeably. “I have a friend who’s sort of like that. You try to tear her away from a notebook or a word processor and she’ll rip your head off.” Ruby shudders and stands, closing her salad. “I’ll be right back.”
Another brief smile, then she’s gone.
“Spill the details,” Sam says, voice hushed. “Come on, you two are obviously on better terms now. Why?”
Cas feels Dean’s eyes rest on him again and tries not to smile too suspiciously.
“We made a deal,” Dean says, still looking at Cas. “We agreed.”
“Yeah, on what terms?” Sam’s voice is rushed. “Come on, she’s just talking to one of the interns, she’ll be back and then we have to go, anyway.”
“I’ll tell you about it later, Sam,” Dean says, waving his hand. “If that’s alright?” he asks, looking at Cas, more panicked.
Castiel meets his eyes for the first time that lunch. “It’s fine. Tell him whatever you’d like. It’s as much your life as it is mine. But…” Cas turns to glare at Sam. “You have to keep your mouth shut. It’s hardly any of your business even if Dean does tell you and we can’t have whatever it is getting around. Rumors are a nasty thing, and I happen to like my job, thank you very much.”
Sam lets out a breath. “Scandalous,” he whispers and then snorts. “Whatever you say, just don’t be breaking any hearts.”
“I don’t plan to.”
Sam clicks his tongue impatiently, rolls his eyes again as he stands, the bell tone sounds signaling that they’re supposed to head back to work. Back to the cubicles, the offices, in three minutes. “No one ever plans to, Cas. That’s kind of why the breaking of a heart is such a big deal.”
As Dean and Cas stand a second later, Cas supposes that’s pretty true.
part 3