December 3, 2012

"...ean? Dean? Is there something wrong?" Cas asked, eyebrows furrowed and head cocked to the side.

Dean snapped himself out of it. Fuck, he'd zoned out again. The second time in the past ten minutes.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry 'bout that." He gave an apologetic grin. "Just a bit tired." Which was a shameless lie, but he couldn't exactly say, 'Oh, I was just staring at your lips work on that ice cream like I was a horny fifteen year old again.' Besides, Dean wasn't. Not really.

"Oh." Cas paused, studying him with those freakin' intense blue eyes of his, and Dean felt heat crawl up his cheeks, never more thankful blushes didn't show well on his skin. "Perhaps we should leave, then. We can talk tomorrow."

"What? No. No, we can stay." He stuck a spoon of chocolate fudge sundae into his mouth. "No way in hell I'm just leavin' this delicious ice cream." Also, he really liked the way Cas' tongue tentavily flicked out on each spoonful of almost-melting ice cream to taste it, before Cas parted his mouth and sealed his lips over the spoon.

He bit his lip and Dean told himself that it definitely wasn't endearing or cute of any of that other chick-flick shit. Not even a little. "Are you...sure? You seem a bit out of it. And it's not like ice cream in early December is a very good idea, either."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Cas, I'm fine. And ice cream can be eaten anytime. Ice cream and pie––two timeless treats."

"Yes, well, you don't seem fine," Cas said, ignoring the rest.

"Jesus, I'm fine, I swear, just a bit tired. You know it was a late night yesterday." He wasn't sure what the chick's name had been––Brady or Brandy or Brittany or something––but she'd had the perfect mouth and a great ass, too. "Seriously, you need to stop worrying like a mother hen," he said with no real heat, finding Cas' worry more endearing than anything.

...Jesus, what was wrong with him? Finding worry endearing. The hell was his problem? He must've been more tired than he'd thought. It was probably the coffee in his system talking.

Cas let out a puff of air, eyes still scanning his face. "If you're sure…"

"I am," Dean insisted. "Now, eat your ice cream."

Cas held his gaze for a moment before ducking his head. "Fine," he mumbled.

"Now, what were you saying?" Dean asked, eyes trained on Cas, ignoring almost everything else in the ice cream parlor––not like there was much going on.

"Oh. Yes. I was talking about that new used bookstore that opened up a couple of weeks back––you know, down by the Starbucks at the corner of Freemont?"

"You mean the one you all but ransacked the day it opened?" Dean asked, voice dry. "Yeah. I remember." Cas had bought, like, fifty books, bringing them back to their shared dorm and having no place to put them.

A small blush powdered his cheeks and he gave Dean an almost-pout. "They were on sale, Dean, and I needed all those books."

Dean snorted. "Sure." He smirked. "Bookworm."

"I prefer the term bibliophile, thank you very much," Cas said with a haughty sniff, eating another spoonful, and Dean found himself watching as he licked his lips afterward.

Coming to eat ice cream had been a horrible idea. Or a fucking awesome one. Dean wasn't sure which.

He cleared his throat. Do not think about Cas' mouth, dude. That's weird. Which, of course, meant that was all he could think about. "Right. So, the bookstore…?

"Oh, yeah. I got a part-time job there," Cas said, smiling the widest Dean had ever seen him.

Dean cracked a grin. "Yeah? Congrats, man! Bet you'll love it."

Cas gave an almost dreamy sigh, blue eyes shining with excitement. "All those books…"

Dean rolled his eyes, lips twitching upward. Jesus, he was like a kid on Christmas day, finally getting that present he'd wanted since forever. "Only you would get this gooey-eyed and excited over workin' at a bookstore."

Cas nodded. "It'll be wonderful. I won't be able to read all the time, of course, but in between breaks...and all those books. As an added bonus, I'll also get an employee discount––twenty-five percent off."

Dean gave an exaggerated groan. "Shit. I bet we won't even be able to see the floor, our room's gonna be drowning in books so bad."

Cas' eyes danced. "If I'm lucky, then, yes."

Dean laughed, shaking his head, eating another spoonful. "You and your obsession with books, man––it ain't healthy."

Cas raised an eyebrow. "Says the man that goes around calling his car 'Baby,' and would marry it if it were legal," he said, deadpan.

"Hey. I wouldn't marry Baby even it was leg––"

"Were, Dean. Not was. Were," Cas interrupted.

Dean scowled. "Was, were, same thing, man."

"No, actually, they aren't the same," Cas said, all seriousness. " 'Was' implies that––"

"Cas, I wasn't bein' literal! Jesus, I meant it don't really matter to me, 'cause I don't care. See how that works?"

Cas frowned. "You should care, because English is the primary language with which you communicate. Grammar is important, Dean."

"Yeah, it's important, when you're, like, writing reports an' shit. In everyday conversation, as long as ya know what I'm sayin' an' what I mean, who cares if I use 'was' or 'were'?"

"Which is exactly the problem. So few do!" Cas said, cheeks flushed with excitement. They always got this pale pink color whenever Cas got all excited or passionate about something. Dean convinced himself that was not the reason he'd poked at the subject, knowing how passionate and touchy Cas was about grammar.

Passionate about grammar. Grammar, of all things. Jesus, Cas was such a nerd.

"People are so careless with their words, tossing them about like those disgusting sugar-free lollipops you get at the dentist's," Cas continued, brows furrowed, leaning forward on his forearms. "So few respect the power words hold."

"Okay, okay," Dean said, holding out his hands in a placating gesture. "You gonna jump me next?" He snorted. "Jesus, Cas, you're such a nerd." And then, blinking, "And did you seriously use 'cheap sugar-free lollipops that you get from the dentist' in a metaphor?" He smirked. "I mean, I've heard some really weird shit come outta your mouth, but that takes the cake."

Cas opened his mouth and then shut it, cheeks reddening with embarrassment. "Oh, be quiet," he mumbled, shoving another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

Dean's smirk widened.

"And you've been telling me to eat my ice cream and yet have barely touched yours," he accused, eyes narrowed.

"That's 'cause you eat really––" sensually "––slowly, Cas. I can eat this whole thing in less'n a minute."

"Less than a minute?" Cas repeated, voice dry. "Do excuse me if I don't believe you. That's a huge sundae, Dean, and really cold, too. The only thing you'll achieve by attempting to eat all that in under a minute is a rather painful brain freeze." A pause, and then a small, sly smirk, eyes wide and innocent, and Dean assured himself that the sight didn't make him want to pull Cas forward and kiss him then and there. "Perhaps you should attempt to eat all that in under a minute."

"Dick," Dean said, unable to stop his lips quirking upward.

Cas gave a shrug, fighting to keep a smile down.

"Ten bucks says I can eat this whole thing in under a minute and not get a brain freeze," Dean said.

"It won't work, Dean. You'll be in pain."

He rolled his eyes. "Please, I can handle it. So you in or what?"

Cas shook his head. "You are incorrigibly obstinate," he said.

"That I am, Cas," Dean answered with a cocky smirk and a wink.

"...Fine, then. It's a bet."

Dean gave Cas a shark-like grin. "Prepare to lose."

Cas raised an eyebrow. "I highly doubt I'll be the one to lose."

So Dean set out to prove him wrong, shoveling spoon after spoon of cold vanilla ice cream down his gullet, sundae halfway done, ten seconds passing, he so had this, fifteen seconds, he could––sonofabitchshitfuckshit.

"Brain freeze," he gasped, eyes wide, the sharp pain unexpected.

"Tilt your head back," Cas said, leaning forward, brows furrowed with worry. "Touch your tongue to the top of your mouth. Breathe in through your mouth, out through your nose."

Dean did just that, forcing himself to breathe in through his mouth. He counted to ten twice, and Dean felt the pain subside.

"Shit," Dean said after a while, staring at his ice cream as if it'd just turned demonic, "that was worse than I'd thought."

Cas melted back before giving him his patented 'Dean-Winchester-you-are-an-idiot-why-do-I-put-up- with-this' stare, letting out a long-suffering sigh. "I believe this is where one usually says, 'I told you so.' "

He glared at Cas. "Cas, you ass."

"Yes. Because turning out to be right is such a heinous act." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "And you're rhyming, too––great poetry there, Dean, you really know which insults to use when aiming to cut."

Usually, one had to pay close attention to what Cas was saying to get whether he was being serious or sarcastic, and even then it was hard to tell. However, there was no denying the fact that this time, Cas was layering on the sass. Dean scowled at him. "Oh, fuck off."

A twitch at the corner of his lips. "Don't I have ice cream to finish?"

"I repeat, fuck off."

Cas grinned at him. "You owe me ten dollars now, you know."

Dean's scowl deepened. "Don't even know why I put up with you," he grumbled.

"Because it is much easier to befriend your roommate rather than dealing with hostility and anger," he answered, taking another bite.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Dean said, waving a hand in the air. "Finish your goddamn ice cream––I've got a stupid-ass paper to write for class." He paused and smirked. "Also, I've got a hot date tonight."

Cas' eyes snapped up to him and then back down. "Oh."

"Yup. With Mindy Crawford." Hottest chick on campus. Great ass, big boobs, and a good-looking face to top it all off.

"I see." Cas stirred his now-melting ice cream around his bowl.

"You know, Cas," Dean said, leaning forward, "you should really get laid. We've been sharin' a room for two years now and you haven't brought back a single chick."

"Dean, just because I don't bring girls back to our room doesn't mean I haven't dated in the past," Cas said, giving him a flat stare.

A surge of emotion raced through him. So Cas had been going around banging chicks this whole time? Some bimbo'd had her hands all over Cas, kissing him, fucking him, this whole time?

Whoa there, he thought. Calm down. Who cares if Cas got some much-needed action? It's a good thing.

Besides, Dean wasn't, like, jealous or anything. Dean Winchester never got jealous, especially when it came to Cas and any girls he may or may not have banged. Obviously, all that emotion he had just felt was protectiveness. Cas was, like, sensitive. Dean didn't want him getting hurt.

No jealousy or possessiveness at all. He was just being a good friend. The Shawn to his Gus.

Throughout this inner epiphany, he had kept his face carefully neutral––he didn't want Cas getting, you know, ideas or something, because that would be weird––but now, he beamed at him. "Dude! You never told me you were gettin' laid! When was this, huh? C'mon, man, details!"

Cas fidgeted, eyes still on his ice cream. "I don't think telling you would be––"

"Oh, c'mon. Don't be a pussy, man. Just tell me."

"I…"

"Cas. Cas."

Cas sighed. "...Very well." He started telling Dean about some chick named Elizabeth Bennet.

Whenever Dean felt a surge of emotion––which was more often than he had expected––he dismissed it, trying to focus back on this chick, who was apparently pretty, smart, funny, perfect––which was, you know, great for Cas and all. He was happy for him, and Dean told Cas as much many times, complimenting this Elizabeth Bennet even though he felt uneasy about her. Who knew who she was? What if she was some sort of psycho killer? Or a con? What if she was just using Cas? Dean hadn't heard of an 'Elizabeth Bennet' on campus, and he'd never heard anyone mention her. Jo and Chuck and Ruby would've heard about her, too, right? Maybe Charlie knew about her––she knew everyone. He'd have to ask her. Still, he layered on the compliments––Cas seemed to like her. A lot, if judging by the amount of detail he put into describing her, and Dean was going to be supportive and shit because God knew Cas needed some fun in his life, and if that came in the form of a girlfriend, then, hey, good for him.

And if Dean found himself focusing on those lips of his as he spoke, he told himself that it was only because they were a little feminine––all pale pink and bow-shaped and plush––and he was just sexually frustrated because he hadn't been laid in a while and his brain was just confusing them for a girl's lips or something because Dean Winchester was not gay.

Especially not for Castiel Novak.

A/N: I've got this whole thing written out (~13000 words), and I thought that I'd post the first section up since I haven't gotten 'round to editing the others. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, and please, let me know what you thought! Was it good? Bad? I'd love some concrit.

Thanks for reading, and I hope to see you in the next chapter!