Uplifted
Castiel never figured out why they called it a "crush" and not a "lift." Green wasn't always his favorite color, he didn't always favor taller boys over cute girls, and he didn't always care about what he looked like going over to Dean Winchester's house. No, all that started a little under a year ago. His heart felt nothing but uplifted when he saw Dean smile, and for that reason, he didn't understand why everyone called what he had on his best friend a "crush."
Castiel was content. He didn't yearn for anything more than what he already had, because to him, he had everything. He fell in love with the moments they would gossip over which teacher was the best and which student was most likely going to become the president. He cherished the times their fingers brushed when they shared a textbook. He didn't think to want anything more.
Dean was a year older than Castiel, he was in fifth grade while Castiel was in fourth when the Winchesters moved next door. Castiel and Dean developed a profound relationship right at the start, and there had never been any wrinkles in that rug, and by the time Castiel got to sixth grade and Dean in seventh (where the this narration starts,) Dean had already well adapted to middle school. They hadn't had any breaks in their friendship since they'd always visited outside school, but middle school was different than elementary in the way that different groups of people seemed to form without any real direction. Dean already had a new group of friends, somewhat similar to the people Castiel had met when they were in elementary school, but with different names.
Dean wasn't shy about his friendship with Castiel, Castiel found out the first week when Dean waved him over, that big dumb smile stretched over his face. It was one of Castiel's favorite things about him. One of those things that anchored him to the shore of the beach of his losses, whatever he had lost already being only twelve years old. Dean had met Castiel halfway as Castiel made his way towards him, Dean had a hop in his step, energetic and bright. It lifted Castiel spirits.
Dean's hands were shoved into his pockets, "Hey!" he puffed out, at a loss of breath. "How are you taking sixth grade, middle-schooler?"
Castiel shrugged, eyes never leaving Dean's. They stood their wordless for another two seconds before Dean glanced back at the boys he was standing with before he'd seen Castiel. He turned his body to the side as if he were about to take off back to them, but didn't move just yet.
"Do you like your classes?"
Castiel nodded, pulling out a green sheet of paper with his schedule on it; he handed it to Dean.
"Yikes," Dean laughed, Castiel heart stuttered, "Good luck with Mrs. Harvelle. I had her last year, she can be a real hardass."
"She comes off that way, yes," Castiel muttered in agreement, choosing not to comment on Dean's language despite him never cursing in front of Castiel before.
"Winchester! Stop flirting!" one of the boys shouted at them.
A soft blush dusted over Dean's cheekbones in a sort of dance, Castiel watched, entranced, as he rubbed embarrassedly at the back of his neck and shoved the paper back at Castiel.
"Shut up, Benny," Dean said, voice strong and high above the others as he turned his head back towards the group. If his voice were a color, it would be the color red. Dean turned back to Castiel, said he'd catch up with him later, and stomped back to the boy, Benny, and the others. Dean shoved Benny's shoulder and said something that made Benny laugh.
Castiel straightened his sweater vest and stared at his shoes. He ignored the thumping in his chest, rhythmic and powerful for being restricted by veins and a cage. It was normal, he decided while crossing his arms over his chest, to feel this way.
Castiel saw Dean again at lunch. He learned the names of the other two boys Dean was hanging out with, Adam and Ash. Dean, Benny, Adam, and Ash all ate the cafeteria food, and Castiel ate from the lunch box his mom insisted on making each morning. They talked, Castiel responding in a few words to any questions directed at him, and Dean had led most of the conversation. Castiel didn't mind. He'd much rather watch Dean than have to entertain others as he did. Dean was animate and beautiful, he talked with his hands and laughed with his whole body and soul. There it was again, that pull from the clouds, and Castiel at least understood why many people described feelings with heartstrings. Tiny little hands, probing into his chest and pulling at the strings and plucking them like a violin.
"It's ridiculous! I mean who puts spinach on pizza?! Life ruiners! Destroyers of happiness!" Dean said dramatically, teeth bared in laughter, and the music only Castiel could hear floated back up to the heavens. His eyes hadn't strayed from Dean the entire time, as if Dean was some kind of movie premiering at a cinema.
It was probably always like this. Castiel always found Dean to be interesting, beautiful, a work of art itself, acrylic on canvas, staff of music on a page, a heart that learned to beat on itself and walk out of a chest: the pure essence of life. And still he can't imagine being the only one. There must be someone else- so many others- everyone must look at Dean and be unable to look away. So why do they? Why do so many glance past him? It's something Castiel will never figure out.
So he may be content as is, but what are they? What could they be? It's something Castiel hadn't pondered, so he didn't know what they could be had Castiel voiced this profound bond they had.
A crush, a crush, ah that's what it's called. Castiel doesn't remember quite how he discovered the word. It's sort of like the word "banana," he doesn't really remember when someone said "this is a banana." Or something. So, halfway through sixth grade, Castiel realizes what he feels for Dean is a bit more than friendship. It does explain a lot, he supposed at the time, he didn't crave Kevin's (a kind boy in his math class) attention like he craved Dean's. He didn't feel the sun in place of his heart when any other boy or girl sat too close to him.
But why a "crush?" There was nothing "crushing" about what he felt for Dean. It was only uplifting. It was only beautiful and grand and beautiful and small. How can the sun turn two stars brighter with Dean in its rays, Castiel will never know. He only knows that their short and playful exchanges of "I love you" have turned into something earnest, more extreme, because when he said he loved his mom he didn't mean it the same way when he said he loved Dean.
And it didn't make sense, anyone can tell you it didn't make sense to say you're in love when you're twelve years old, but anyone who can tell you that probably didn't know Dean. Dean could probably make the most faithful of wives and husbands give up the moon, Castiel was sure of it, because he would.
It wasn't a few months into the school year when Castiel had started getting teased for his obvious yearning towards Dean. They used words Castiel didn't quite understand, wasn't sure he wanted to, but Castiel didn't care. Their accusation of him were true enough, but he didn't want to give them the satisfaction of being right when Dean didn't know yet. He wasn't bothered by the names, he didn't think Dean would be either, it didn't register that other people responded to situations like this differently.
They were talking by Castiel's locker one day when Castiel found out that Dean was, in fact, bothered by things people were saying about him.
A few girls were passing by, slowing down when they got to Castiel and Dean, whispering and giggling, making kissy faces at them.
"Will you be my gay best friend?" one of them asked Castiel, mocking and snickering, but Castiel didn't realize the ill intentions.
"Fuck off, bitch," Dean snapped at her, familiarity fluttering around in the air. They knew each other somehow, Castiel didn't know how. Castiel wondered when Dean had taken to cursing so often.
The girl flipped him off and twirled her hair and walked on. Dean was still fuming, but Castiel remained unfazed.
"Are you okay?" Castiel asked, somewhat uncertain.
"Am I okay?"
"You seem upset."
"You're not?"
Silence fell like a sheet, quickly snatched from over their heads.
"It happens often. It doesn't bother me."
Dean was upon him, noses nearly touching, chest puffed out in a display of aggression, he would make a beautiful bird, Castiel acknowledged, he would make a beautiful anything.
"What?!" he demanded. "Those chicks bully you a lot?"
Castiel tilted his head in confusion. "I don't see why it matters. They aren't the only ones," and while they're on the topic, Castiel decides to ask the ever lingering question on his tongue, "What's a 'fag,' Dean?"
Dean's eyes turned hard and his jaw set. He looked angry. It was a side of Dean Castiel had not seen before, and if he had, he'd forgotten it. Dean's lips parted as if he were about to say something, but then he stopped himself.
Finding Dean's anger misplaced, he tried to calm him, "You shouldn't be upset. It's not like they're wrong."
Dean's gaze turned to him, chilled and broken into pieces of bemusement. "What?" he seemed to spit the words, as if they didn't belong on his tongue. "You're gay?"
Castiel tilted his head, quiet for a few moments, face still and emotionless. "Yes."
Dean's unsettled eyes didn't fade. He stuttered out, "For how long?"
"Forever? Sexuality isn't something that's chosen, it just is."
Dean seems speechless, and for a moment Castiel feels cold. Dean looks betrayed, and Castiel regrets ever saying the words because Dean's different, what else did Castiel expect? That Dean would take the information with a smile, being as he is? His heartstrings snap and there they are, in his shoelaces.
"S-Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything," he said softly and turned around to leave. He didn't know where to go since the bell didn't ring for another fifteen minutes, but he decided the bathroom was a safe place. He half expected, or hoped that, Dean would follow him, but all he heard behind him was the echoes of his own footsteps.
Oh.
Castiel places a hand over his chest, one over his cheek where he finds tears.
That's why they call it a crush.
That following day, Castiel realizes Dean is more of a necessity than a desire. They pass in the hallways sometimes but Dean gaze doesn't linger as it used to. Castiel figures it's easier for Dean. He had other friends, other people that could replace what Castiel was for him. No one could come close to what Dean was for Castiel, though.
This sort of dissonance continues another week before Castiel goes to collect his books from his locker and finds Dean sitting next to it. Castiel stops a few feet short, and for a few seconds he feels lighter, as if someone tied four helium balloons to his wrist, and Dean is still staring at his hands as if he hadn't notice Castiel approach.
"Dean?" Castiel says to announce himself, and his love's head snaps up and he stands so quickly he nearly falls.
"Um. Yeah. Cas. Hi," he says, words disconnected, the river Dean used to speak long since gone.
"Hello," Castiel greets emptily.
They stand in the sand of unspoken words, all at their ankles, heavy and overbearing.
Both of them speak at once,
"What are you-"
"Cas, look I-"
and then they stop in perfect harmony. Their eyes lock, and for a second, it's as if nothing was ever lost or broken.
"I don't like this," Dean gestures between them, "You were my best friend and I screwed it up. I didn't mean it like- I don't know, I was just shocked. I didn't think-"
Castiel stood silent, hope burning like a candle relit that they may go back to being the same way Castiel had loved.
"I understand you don't… approve of what I am-"
"No!" Dean interrupts, "I didn't mean it like that! I just- shit-" Dean looks down at the concrete under their feet. "I like you, okay?"
"I like you, too," Castiel responds, not understanding what makes this conversation so difficult for Dean.
"No, I mean like, like-like you."
Castiel blinks twice. "You love me, too?"
Dean's face lights up red like the flames of fire. "L-Love?"
Castiel's lips turn upwards and he laughs softly. Dean watches him, enchanted, before he joins in.
"So we're friends again?" Castiel asks, smiling as he closes the few steps between them.
Dean's face seems a shade brighter as he accepts the embrace Castiel offers. "Y-Yeah, if you want, or if, like, I dunno- If you wanted to be anything more- Yeah I'm cool with that, or if you didn't-"
"I'd like that," Castiel stops him before he gets too insecure. Castiel's arms are wrapped around Dean's midsection, his nose pressed to his neck, never feeling as secure before that moment. He feels Dean's hands in his hair, trembling nervously, and Castiel reaches up and brings Dean's knuckles to his lips.
The bell rings to punctuate the chaste display of affection, and Castiel smiles softly as he pulls Dean's arm in the direction of the door, heart uplifted and a sun warmer now that Dean's fingers were entangled with his own.