It had been a tough hunt, the kind that lasted a week and made sleep hard to come by. The kind that nipped at the edges of your soul and left you emotionally raw as well as physically beaten. The kind you drove long into the night to shake off. Which is exactly what they were doing now. Sam, Dean and Cas were sat in the Impala, each quietly recovering in their own way. The darkness of the car giving each of them a sense of solitude despite the close quarters.
Dean had music on low and was letting the familiar melodies and lyrics give his mind a rest for the first time this week. His lips followed along without searching for the words. He'd listened to the songs so many times that now the repetition was like meditation. He could feel the tension slipping from behind his eyes and uncoiling itself from his shoulders as song after song drifted through the car. The soft leather of the seat was comforting and the hum of the engine just under the music was reassuring. It always amazed Dean how driving could settle him. Even when things were at their worst, this routine, this car, always saved him from the worst images his brain stored up.
Coming out of his thoughts, Dean looked over to see Sammy asleep, head propped at an awkward angle that would no doubt leave him with a crick in his neck for days. He thought that maybe he should wake him, pass him a sweater for his head, but he could tell Sam was out cold and wouldn't enjoy being woken.
Dean's eyes slide to the rearview mirror where he saw Cas staring out of the window, looking worn and sad. Cas had taken this bastard of a hunt particularly hard; he blamed himself when they found that third body, the little boy. Cas has said that he should have sensed it was the deputy, that he was an angel of the Lord and he should be able to stop evil. He'd gone on and on about what he should have done, tearing apart every piece of good work he'd done to help solve the case until Sam had put a hand on his shoulder and muttered something reassuring. Then Cas had knelt down, closed the boy's eyes and apologised to him. That image was one of those that would stay with Dean; Cas, knelt in the mud, giving an angelic apology to a dead child.
It hurt Dean to see Cas so broken and he was annoyed at himself for not being that comforting hand and those soothing words. Dean wanted to care for Cas in that moment but something held him back, something he kept fighting and didn't want to listen to, but that kept rearing its head when it came to Cas. It was an urge not just to comfort a friend, but to hold him. And Dean fought really hard against that, in part because of his upbringing and in part because he didn't want to lose his friend. Actually, almost completely because he didn't want to lose his best friend. The list of close friends that Dean Winchester had was short and he could really do without having to strike off another.
Dean was convinced for a long time that Cas thought of him as nothing but a friend, but then he actually paid attention to the way Cas looked at him and it hit him hard - Cas wanted him. Dean realised in that moment that he had to be the responsible one and not fall for his best friend. He somehow knew that Cas wouldn't make a move, that he'd wait for Dean to do it. Whether it was Cas being patient or whether it was because he was too scared, Dean didn't know. All Dean knew is that he had to shut it down or he'd lose someone so important to him, that without him he'd probably crumble away.
Not that Cas had been trying real hard to hold back though. Dean always felt the heat in those moments when Cas stared, of course he did. He wasn't dumb, he just played it well. He didn't acknowledge it because it might give Cas hope and it might make his resolve crumble. So he soldiered on, ignoring those looks. But, dear God, there was something in those looks that was deep, questioning and burning. Something intense he really wanted to explore. Yet he somehow managed to shrug it off, crack a joke and move on. It was hard. Hell, those looks had actually managed to get him hard.
The first time Cas's smolder had twitched his dick to life had been when the angel showed up looking particularly windswept. He looked like he'd just been properly mussed up in bed by someone. He appeared right up in Dean's personal space and due to the lack of distance between them, when he'd said "hello, Dean", it was soft, rumbling and just a touch breathy. Dean had swallowed hard, hidden his bulge and reacted to Cas with a little bit more venom than he intended. Later that day he'd jerked off in the shower to thoughts of Cas for the first time.
It solidified what he suspected about himself for a long time; Dean was bisexual. It's just that he seemed to have a really specific type of dude he liked. Ones with pouty lips, softly messed up dark hair and soulful blue eyes. Since his internal acceptance of being just a bit gay, Dean had looked at men more, searched out gay porn, and sure enough, he always found the ones that got him going had something that reminded him of Cas. He'd call it a boner killer, only it seriously wasn't. Dean had spent hours by this point, dick in hand searching for his next angel fantasy. It was getting a bit obsessive, but how else was he supposed to deal with those looks?
Dean shook his head against the thoughts and desire that had suddenly piled up on him. He glanced into the mirror again, but this time Cas was looking at him. The look was far from smoldering or intense; it was weary but Dean still felt his heart leap a little. He cleared his throat.
"Hey", said Dean, "how're you feeling?"
Cas sighed. "Bad."
Dean paused and then the only thing that came out of his mouth was, "Oh."
Dean knew that feeling but he didn't really know how to deal with it. He drank. Everyone knew he drank. It was stupid and unhealthy in so many ways, but it's what numbed the bad memories in the short-term until they could join the hum of all the other bad ones a few weeks later. Instead of suggesting Cas join Team Drink-Your-Troubles-Away, Dean replied,"you did everything right, Cas. You helped save a lot of people today. You gotta take those victories where you find them."
"I know. But… he was so young. Too young to die like that."
Cas had dropped his gaze from Dean's and was looking out the window again. Dean took that as the conversation was over and returned his focus to the road. He'd do something nice for Cas back at the bunker. Maybe he'd binge watch something with him, chat shit and just hang out. Dean usually avoided intimate settings with Cas, but he looked like he needed some company and comfort. So Dean would let the walls down a little so Cas could feel better. Yep, he was only doing it for Cas and not for himself at all. Even the voice in his head didn't sound convinced.
The final hour to the bunker passed quietly and Dean was relieved to leave the driver's seat and stretch his legs. Sam and Cas also unfolded themselves from the car and the three of them head into the bunker.
Despite his exhaustion, Dean's mind wouldn't calm down, and after an hour of tossing and turning he decided to give up trying to force sleep and go watch crap TV. Dean didn't bother pulling on sweatpants, why bother? It was warm so his t-shirt and boxers would have to do. It's not like he really cared if Sam saw him half dressed, they'd gone through puberty together in motel rooms; you have no choice but to get over the embarrassment. He did half think it would be uncomfortable to be partially dressed in front of Cas, but his overly tired yet irritatingly active brain couldn't find the fucks to give.
Dean made his way to the TV room and flopped down on a couch and started flicking through channels looking for something mildly interesting but that wouldn't give him the urge to stay awake to see it through. Dean settled on some war documentary and relaxed back into the cushions. Out the corner of his eye something moved that made him jump up and slap the light switch on.
"Holy fuck, Cas! You scared the hell outta me!"
"Sorry, Dean. I was trying to read but couldn't focus so thought I'd join you."
Cas still looked rough and Dean still felt it. Maybe now was the time for Dean and Cas's chillout time, thought Dean. No time like the present, and considering how fresh the image of Cas kneeling in the mud was, Dean felt the need to make up for being such a sucky friend.
Cas had lost several of his usual layers and was in just his slacks and shirt with the cuffs rolled up, revealing an expanse of tanned forearm with golden and brown hairs. Dean never got to see this much of Cas's skin and it fascinated him. He wondered how soft his skin was, how warm.
"I was just watching some documentary on some war. Hadn't even got that far", explained Dean.
"I think I'd prefer something with less death", said Cas as he sat down next to Dean. His shirt buttons were also undone further than he'd ever seen, exposing some collarbone and what Dean thought might be a smattering of chest hair. Dean had never really considered how body hair could be a turn on until now. And it was, and he needed to not think about that.
Cas was on the other end of the sofa, which said he wasn't feeling particularly like testing Dean's resolve. Dean considered it to be a good thing, especially when his brain was so damn foggy with tiredness and now, apparently, lust.
"Cool. Well, I can find something less serious."
Dean flicked through the channels for a while, finally giving up and settling on a shopping channel. They were selling pans and that held a mild interest for Dean. His cooking skills were still developing, but he was trying. He could make a lasagna from scratch - cheese sauce and all. It was his crowning culinary achievement. Cas didn't need to eat though so suddenly Dean was irritated by the over-happy hosts and flicked to a different station.
"Are we friends, Dean?" Cas's question came out of nowhere and Dean was concerned by it.
"Sure, we are, buddy. What makes you ask?", Dean questioned.
"No reason", muttered Cas.
Glancing over, Cas wasn't watching the TV. He was just sort of staring into mid-distance. Dean's heart ached to see Cas so despondent. And that question worried him. He thought the world of Cas. He couldn't stop thinking of Cas, why would he question their friendship?
"Do you not think we're friends? We're more than that, Cas; we're family. You and me, man. 'Til the end."
Dean cringed internally. That wasn't what he really wanted to say and he knew this vague, macho bull-crap he pulled out of the air was of no comfort to his friend. He had to try harder than this or Cas might just realise what a bad idea it was to get so invested in Dean Winchester. Dean sighed.
"I'm sorry, Cas", said Dean, "that's the lamest thing I think I've ever said. You're my best friend, Cas. I couldn't deal if you weren't here, so don't ever think we're not friends. Ok?"
Cas looked at Dean and smiled gently at him. It wasn't like Dean had fixed anything, not really, but that small smile made him smile in return. And so, for a few long seconds, they both gazed at one another, caught in that small, intimate moment until Dean cleared his throat and turned his eyes back to the TV.
Dean heard Cas sigh and he looked back over, Cas's face sad once more. Dean thought he'd managed to be what Cas needed and he'd somehow managed to make him feel bad anyway.
"Why do you always do that, Dean?" Cas asked softly, still looking at him.
Dean immediately felt uncomfortable and his mind started going over responses, but there was no way of answering this question without addressing the heavy sexual tension that repeatedly built when they looked at each other. His options were clearly split into two piles now, the "I'm not gay" panic half, and the "because if I kept staring I'd do such things to you" half. And neither of those seemed like a good option. Both of those would make him lose a friend and Dean hadn't done anything about how he felt precisely because of that. Dean realised he'd been silent too long and muttered, "do what?" at Cas, hoping his brain would magically find an answer in the next few seconds.
"When I look at you, Dean, you always stop it. You make a joke or clear your throat or just turn and walk away. Why?" Cas's words weren't angry, they were curious and a touch sad.
This simple question was forcing Dean into a corner with his emotions and he had few ways out. This was why he avoided intimate moments with Cas, and why he always broke the tension - he didn't want to face choosing what to do with emotions he knew were a bad idea to pursue. And as much gay panic as he'd had when he first started to be attracted to Cas, there was little now. He'd been through too much to be afraid of his sexuality. He knew how short life was and how little you he was going to get when he finally died. But he held back because relationships, and dare he think it - love - were too dangerous when heaven and hell hated your guts. The good the bad and everything in between wanted them dead depending on the day of the week. They'd unashamedly use Cas against him, and him against Cas, to get what they wanted. He didn't want that pain for either of them. It was hard enough when they were friends but if they were more? They'd know exactly where to stab him in the heart. And so yes, it turned out that Dean did keep thinking about love, so he guessed that was also a thing he felt about Cas now. Thanks, Cupid, you absolute dick.
Dean let his head fall into his hands. His brain wouldn't stop, his body ached and he was weary to his soul. What he'd been doing for months - years - wasn't working, they were still here at the crossroads, having to choose. So, maybe it was time for something other than denial. Maybe it was time for some honesty.
Dean swallowed thickly. Honesty - it sounded simple but forcing these words out of his mouth was probably going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done. Honesty meant confronting not only his own emotions but Cas's too.
"Because… Because I know what those looks are, Cas, and I can't."
Dean's words hung in the air between them. Dean had let it out now, hadn't he? He hadn't looked as Cas as he'd said it, but now he stole a quick glance at his face to see how the words had landed. Turns out Cas looked hurt and as soon as he saw that, Dean realised he'd made a mistake. But maybe their friendship could recover from this, people got over feelings for friends all the time and Cas had forgiven him for some heavy stuff and vice versa.
"You can't what, Dean?"
"Please, Cas. I can't lose you as my friend."
"But what you could have instead, Dean, would be more than worth it."
At that, Dean's head snapped up and he stared at Cas. Was Cas seriously just offering himself up to him? Just like that? Unprompted. Dean stared at Cas and for once didn't feel the need to look away. In fact, he forced himself to keep looking into Cas's eyes and to keep studying his face. Could Dean really keep pushing him away? How long would it be until he lost his friend anyway?
Cas seemed to take the fact that Dean had stopped talking as a good thing and moved himself closer to Dean until their knees touched. Dean was so aware of Cas's knee touching his and wondered how such a simple point of contact could feel like so much more. He wondered until Cas reached out his hand toward him and took his hand. It was a test, Dean could tell, to see if Dean would pull away. He didn't. He gently held Cas's hand in return and looked into his eyes once again.
Cas looked at him with longing and Dean felt heat creep up his neck and his heart beat a little faster. This was intense and all they were doing was holding hands. What was he, twelve? But this wasn't a flush of arousal, not yet anyway, it was excitement and a bit of fear, because this was Dean and Cas actually expressing some fucking emotion for once instead of each hiding in their own metaphorical bunkers. This was real connection and goddamn if it didn't make Dean's heart soar.