Cass stared down at his hands. The cuts on his arms itched under his stiff, white shirt. He wasn't about to scratch, though. Not with Dean sitting next to him. They'd known each other for a long time, but despite their closeness, Cass had never told Dean.
'You'll only push him away,' he'd told himself. Hurting Dean was worse for him than hurting himself. In truth, if Cass had told Dean it would've brought him closer, but Cass was terrified.
As he stared intently at his hands, he didn't see the concern written on Dean's face. Cass had called Dean in the midst of a panic attack; shaking, terrified, nauseous. Of course, Dean had dropped everything and raced over in the Impala as soon as he heard Cass' choking sobs and labored breathing over the phone. He'd held Cass tight and sang to him 'Sweet Child O' Mine' until his tears were dry and he could breathe without the discomfort of painful hiccups. And now they were simply sitting side by side, knees touching. After a few more moments of silence, they spoke at the same time.
"Cass, I-"
"Dean, there's -"
Their eyes met, but Dean looked down almost immediately. Small, red spots dotted the crisp linen of Cass' sleeves.
"Cass, you're bleeding!"
Cass' eyes widened and he tried to move away from Dean, but Dean grabbed his wrist. Cass flinched in pain.
"It's nothing, Dean."
"Dammit, Cass! Don't you lie to me!" Dean cried out. His hands were damp with blood, as it was soaking through the shirt in large, red patches. Cass tried to pull away again, but he was feeling faint from the pain and the earlier blood loss. Being the stronger of the two to begin with, Dean pulled Cass closer and began to pull up his sleeve.
"Dean, please," Cass whimpered.
Dean didn't listen. His eyes filled with pain when he saw the cherry-red stripes on Cass' arm. Cass had tried to bandage up the freshest cuts, but had found it very difficult.
"Cass, take your shirt off."
This scared Cass for two reasons. First, he was covered in scars that ran up and down his arms, with some as high as his neck. Second, Dean had never seen him shirtless before. Cass wasn't sure why this terrified him - it wasn't because of the scars, though.
"Cass, if you don't, I'm not gonna hesitate to do it myself."
Suddenly Cass' mind was filled with a vivid image of Dean pulling off his tie and ripping off his shirt. Cass' face turned bright red and he decided to unbutton the shirt himself. He scooted away from Dean, suddenly even more uncomfortable. As he sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, shaking from cold and anxiety, Dean stood up and walked out of the room. Tears were spilling down Cass' cheeks, and he didn't even look up though the bed shifted due to the absence of Dean's weight. When Dean returned a few minutes later, Cass was exactly how Dean had left him. Still staring at his hands, Cass felt Dean's weight return to the bed. Dean placed his hand gently on Cass' shoulder, indicating that he wanted Cass to turn and face him. As Cass turned, he noticed that the sensation of Dean's skin on his was still there, and it filled his stomach with a peculiar fluttering. It made him want to run away or hide, but he couldn't escape Dean's gaze.
Dean broke his gaze to reach for the first-aid kit he had retrieved from the small bathroom in Cass' apartment. He had also brought a bowl of cool water and a washcloth to clean Cass' wounds, so he decided to start with that. They sat cross legged on the bed, facing each other, and Dean held Cass' arm palm up, dabbing at the wounds with the wet rag. There was a noticeable distinction to Cass between the warmth of Dean's hands and the coolness of the water. Normally Cass disliked contact with people, but something about Dean's touch brought him a deep sense of comfort, as long as he ignored that fluttering feeling. Cass had stopped crying, and Dean was moving on to smearing anti-bacterial cream on the wounds. They sat in silence for a while, Cass simply watching Dean work and Dean scowling in concentration, or so Cass thought. In reality, Dean was beating himself up over not being enough to keep Cass from hurting himself. It was bothering Dean immensely, and as he was wrapping bandages around Cass' forearms he just couldn't hold in the words anymore.
"Cass, there's something I need to tell you," Dean said. He had finished the bandaging but was still holding on to Cass' wrists. "When you called me… When I saw, you know… I… Cass, I panicked. And you know I don't panic often. I think, Cass, I think - "
Dean stopped and looked up at Cass' face. His cheeks were puffy, his nose runny, but his eyes, those beautiful sky-blue eyes, they met with Dean's and held. There was nothing between them, it seemed. It was a few moments before Dean's eyes flicked away from Cass' eyes to his lips, but Cass wasn't sure what it meant until his eyes met with Dean's again. Dean leaned forward and Cass' lungs were filled with the scent of motor oil and sweet pie. He couldn't think of anything else until he felt Dean's warm breath on his skin. Closing his eyes, Cass readied himself. Dean's lips met with Cass', and it was electrical.
Dean pulled away, leaving Cass confused. He opened his eyes to see a bright red Dean staring intently at the striped pattern of the blanket.
"God, Cass, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
Dean was cut off by Cass pressing his lips against his own. Leaning that far forward made Cass lose his balance, and so shirtless Cass fell on top of Dean. Embarrassed, Cass started to panic. He was trying to hold himself up over Dean, but his arms felt like jelly.
"I think, Cass, I think I might be in love with you," Dean whispered breathlessly. He pulled Cass close, kissing him again. They simply kissed, nothing more, and Cass, exhausted, fell asleep wrapped in Dean's arms.
