Dean blinks. He freezes up. His breath catches in his throat as he chokes in the fast rising tide of his dread.
Did I really just say that?
There was no way he'd said it; he couldn't have just let himself screw up that much. But the way Cas is staring at him, like he'd just announced that he'd sold his soul to a demon and had a minute to live, he knows that the sickening sense of horror oozing through his body was confirmed. He starts shaking. His heart has either stopped entirely or is pounding off the radar. He can't decide whether to breathe harder or stop altogether; his hands are sweaty and the room feels entirely too small and hot. A tightening feeling encases his chest and he swallows, tries to compose himself, tries to think, but he can't. This is too familiar, too déjà vu for him to grasp. With a sharp gasp, he finds himself plummeting back, years into the past, to a cluttered school cafeteria in some shabby town in upstate New York.
Dean's sitting alone, not eating his lunch. He and Sammy had been in this stupid, tiny excuse for a town for three weeks, and Dad wasn't back yet. They were running out of food; Dean would probably just save his lunch for Sammy and make something up as an excuse. Maybe he'd find some way to get money in this miserable place to get some groceries tomorrow. He sighs and leans back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose against the headache that had been growing steadily there for days. When he opened his eyes, something caught his eye. Or, someone, to be more exact. That kid who sat in front of him in math had glanced over at him again. Dean held his stare defiantly, figuring the boy was just going on about how messed up the new kid with the weird pendant was with his friends. But as he glared, he saw something different in the other guy's gaze. It wasn't mocking; not even close.
He might even go so far as to call it concern. He didn't make sense, this kid. Every day, Dean would walk into school and stare down his nose at everyone, maybe talk up a girl or two, and walk out feeling a little shittier than when he arrived. But when he walked into the math room, bracing himself for another hour of staring at jumbled up equations on the chalkboard, he always heard one voice rise above the others, momentarily drowning out the meaningless squabble and pointless laughter.
"Hi, Dean." The guy would say, everyday, receiving a microscopic nod and an even faker hint of a smile. People like him usually pissed Dean off; it was almost like they greeted you simply because they had nothing better to do. But this person seemed to genuinely mean the greeting, as much as you can mean "hi". And for some reason, it was comforting. Weird, but somehow soothing his stress level just a little for him to push on through the day. He kind of liked it, but that didn't mean he was going to return the greeting. He didn't even remember the guys name. Started with an "a", he thought. Alex, Aaron, Aiden…something like that.
He abruptly realizes that they've held eye contact for over a minute. He breaks the connection. Too late. The other guy stands up and begins walking towards him. Shit. Dean had NOT intended for this to happen.
"Hi, Dean." The boy says expectantly.
"Uh, hi, um…" Dean struggles to recall his name, "…Adrian?"
"Carter. I um, was wondering if you'd like to come sit with us? You looked kinda, um, lonely, I guess." Shit. Adrian wasn't even close. Dean swallows, trying to think of a way to politely decline the offer, but comes up empty. "Uh, sure, I guess…" he trails off, feeling clumsy and awkward as he stands to walk over to the table and promptly stumbles over air. Carter snorts, apparently amused by this. Dean shoots him an annoyed look, which shuts him up immediately. He follows Carter to the table, sitting down next to a pretty redheaded girl and some Asian boy talking loudly about some kid who'd fallen down the stairs and knocked over the principal.
"Pay no heed to the idiot to your left," the girl said, "He makes it his life mission to baffle people with his bullshit." Dean smiles a little, trying to seem interested. "I'm Klaire, by the way." She adds as an afterthought.
"Dean," he mutters in reply.
" Oh, we know who you are," she smirks, looking across the table at Carter, who flushes slightly and makes a face at her.
"Don't pay her any heed either, she's got a presumptuous wart for a brain." Carter snaps back. Klaire just smirks more.
" We're twins. It's my responsibility to make him uncomfortable." She says brightly. They squabble for a moment or two, and Dean watches, amazed at how well he can identify with the situation. It's like him and Sam. He laughs a little as Carter tosses a cheese ball at her, and she retaliates with a slice of ham, which sticks to Carter's face, clinging to his look of disgust. He picks it off looking grossed out, and something about it makes it just about the funniest thing Dean's seen in months.
"Shut up, it's not funny!" Carter tosses the ham at him, but he deflects it with a quick flick, causing it to become plastered to the back of the guy to his left's head. The guy freezes up, reaching up to pull the slab of meat out of his hair.
"You guys are gross," he grumbles, tossing it back onto the sandwich. All of them were roaring with laughter at this point, and Carter reached across the table to high five him. Though they'd only met about five minutes ago, Dean felt lighter somehow as he left the school that day. He almost even felt happy.
So when he walks into math the next day, he doesn't even hesitate.
"Hey, Carter!" He spouts brightly before taking his seat and they engage in a long conversation about the impossibility of their homework. Somehow they stray off topic, and begin to talk about weekend plans. Dean agrees to go to the local theater for some premiere of a movie he's never heard of on Saturday with Carter, Klaire, and Ben, as he learns is the boy from lunch's name. As he exits the school that day, he thinks about Sam.
He won't mind that I'm gone for a few hours. He'll probably be happy that I'm getting out of the motel for a while.
~two months later~
"So he's acting all macho and bigoted and shit, being a complete dick, trying to get Klaire to do something entirely degrading, and he says something about her being small and defenseless and in need of protection, right. So she just turns around , looks him dead in the eye, and says with a completely straight face, 'you know what else is too small?' And he just stands there looking stricken. It was perfect I swear to god…" Carter continues talking a million words per minutes about some bully who got sassed by Klaire as they walk down the hallway. Dean laughs at the story, though he has a nagging sensation that its not the story that's so funny. Carter's shorter than he is, and as they rush to class he has to practically run sideways in order to tell his story at the same time. The result is a rather comical sideways jog, with a stumble every few seconds. His face is slightly pink, and Dean finds himself wondering how exactly he breathes as he talks this fast. However, the answer is always the same when he asks: "What is breathe? Carter no breathe." He always says in a vaguely robotic dialect, as though he's mocking someone made of metal. They reach class moments after the bell rings, and the teacher gives them a dirty look.
"Late again, misters Winchester and Elliot?"
"Sorry, Mr Tomston," they chorus as they take their seats in the back of the room. Carter rapidly scribbles on a piece of paper and passes it to him.
"Skip 2nd, meet me behind soccer field fence" it reads. Huh. Dean never figured Carter would be the skip school kind of guy; maybe something was wrong.
"see you there" he writes back.
He had no comprehension how much these three words would impact his life. If he had, he would never have written that note.
~during second period~
Dean walks out of the school, heading for the soccer field. When he arrived behind the fence, he wasn't very surprised that Carter was nowhere to be found. He'd probably take a while; he didn't make it a habit to cut class. Dean sat down and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Finally, as he was about to leave, he heard rushed footsteps. He spun around, half expecting a teacher to be behind him.
Carter was gasping for air, but he looked thrilled.
"I can't believe we're actually cutting class!" He panted excitedly. Dean smirked.
"Took you long enough to get here." He teases.
"I'll have you know I climbed out a window!" Carter says defensively.
"Seriously? I walked out the front door."
They're silent for a bit, which is a very strange occurrence around Carter. Suddenly, Dean is even more curious.
"So why'd you ask me to meet you here? Can't just be because you wanted to climb out a window." He asks, half serious and half joking. He notices Carter get a little more serious. He seems to be trying to find the words to say.
"I just…I needed to talk to you. About…feelings, I guess." He seems uncharacteristically at a loss for words. "Like I mean, I just, uh, would like you to know that I, um, uh…" he's looking everywhere but at Dean, seemingly embarrassed. Dean gets a weird feeling. He knows exactly where this is going; he has for some time now. But that doesn't mean he's ready for this conversation.
"Look, Carter, I-"
"No, Dean, just…just please hear me out okay. I um, I like you…like a lot…and I uh, um…god this is difficult, I-"
He's broken off as Dean kisses him. He doesn't know why he does it; he just sort of does. It was one of those moments where the only answer to why is why not.
And it's great. He feels like he's just letting go of the negativity. He forgets about the poor test grade he got in history; he forgets about that fight he got into with that bully who went after Sam; he even forgets about Dad, who's been gone for far too long. It's just him and Carter, behind that fence at the edge of the soccer field. And it feels wonderful.
Carter's lips are soft, though slightly chapped; his breath doesn't particularly taste like anything, just sort of…Carter. Maybe a little toothpaste too though. He always figured it'd be weird, kissing a man. But it's hot. It's amazing. The slight pressure against his lips, the hands tugging at his hair…and he's never felt so happy in his life. Well, maybe with the exception of the fireworks he and Sammy set off that night in the woods last year. But he's never felt so…not alone. And that, at that moment, was the best feeling he could ever imagine.
Until he got back to the motel that night. He had planned on telling Sammy about Carter; his little brother would've been so happy for him. But he never got the chance. Because as soon as he walked through the door, he froze in shock. After THREE fucking MONTHS, here he was. John Winchester, father of the year, back from the job, finally ready to pack up and go across the country to ditch them in some other dingy motel for months.
"Where the HELL have you been?!" He blurted out. He felt betrayed. He felt angry. He wanted to punch him, to hurt him, to hold him down and beat him. He'd never felt so completely enraged in his life. How could he just waltz in here, as if he hadn't left them here a quarter of a year ago?! Dean tries to be rational, tries to remain calm and collected. But his intestines were churning with hatred.
"Saving lives, Dean. It's sort of my job." His dad deadpanned.
"To hell it's your job! What about Sammy?! What about me?! WE'RE supposed to be what you care about, not some stupid vampire in New Hampshire! It's been THREE FUCKING MONTHS, Dad! Three!" He loses it. He can't remain calm; he's built himself a life here, and it's the best one he's ever had. And he will not give it up. He will not just leave it behind. He can't just leave it. It's not fair. Not to Carter, not to Sammy and his friends, not to Klaire, or Ben, or anyone. He won't, he can't just leave it, not after all this time.
"DEAN!" He doesn't even care what his father has to say; he's past the point of believing in the man that was once his hero.
"No, Dad. I'm not leaving. I refuse to leave. I'm not asking for your permission to stay here. You'll have to knock me out and drag me away because I am NOT leaving this town." Dean puts on a brave face and pretends to mean his words; for the first time in his life, he is terrified beyond reason of his father. Sure, John's scared him senseless before, but if he knew why Dean wanted to stay…he shudders. He does NOT want to know what his dad would do if he discovered that Dean was in love with a man. But, of course, he always asked why, and now would be no different.
"Dean, have some common sense. You can't stay here. Why would you even want to?! This place is a dingy little town with less than a 5,000 population. You should hate it here; you always hate places like this." John persists. "Where the hell is Sam anyways?"
Sam. Dean had forgotten all about him since he got home. He should've been here by now. He probably heard their shouting and ran off. That or he was off somewhere with his friends.
"With his friends, probably, because you see, when you neglect us for months we tend to have time to make those." His anger is no longer burning through his flesh. Instead, it's freezing over, turning into a cold knot tied tightly around his heart and numbing him entirely.
"Go find him, we're leaving."
"No, you're leaving."
"DEAN. Now!"
"Nope."
"What the hell is this even about?!"
"Doesn't matter."
"Oh really? Is it a girl?" Dean hesitates. This is it; he's going to ask, and Dean's going to tell him, and oh god he's going to shoot him, and what about Sam? What about Carter, or Klaire and Ben? His heart's beating faster to the point where he's not even sure it's still there and his chest feels tight and he can't breathe-
"DEAN!" John roars, unleashing his anger.
"N-no. There isn't a girl." Dean barely manages to stutter it out; he can barely even take a breath now, it's like his lungs are refusing to fill…
"Then WHAT in the DEVIL is this ABOUT?!" His dad is losing it, the vein is bulging and his face is turning a lovely shade of burgundy. And suddenly, Dean's calm. He almost finds the situation funny.
"There isn't a girl, Dad. There's a boy," he smiles cruelty at the way John's face begins to change; disbelief; rage; and something else, something Dean can't quite identify. He goes on, choosing his words carelessly. "His name's Carter Elliot. And you know what? I love him. And I am NOT leaving this town. Not with you." He doesn't get to enjoy the disgust on John's face for long. He barely manages to duck his fist as it swings. An iron grip snaps around his arm. The feeling of calm gives way to terror as reality crashes down.
He's pinned up against the wall, unable to duck the blows, unable to think. Then suddenly it's gone. He lies there on the floor for a long time, hiding his face, trying to comprehend what just happened.
"Dean?" Sam's voice cuts through the void in his mind. He tries to raise his eyes but they're swollen shut. He tries to speak but his lips are split where his teeth pushed through. His nose is filled with clotting blood. "Dean!" He hears his name spoken more urgently.
"…Sammy…" he manages to choke out. A sharp, incessant pain pierces his throat. He feels his brothers hands gently uncovering his face before everything fades away.
Dean wakes to blasting music and rain pounding against a windshield. He recognizes the song. He knows the smell of the car. The air conditioner is rattling with Legos he stuffed into it as a kid.
The Impala. Raising his head, he sees the glow of a sign in the headlights.
Welcome to Ohio.
He did it. He knocked Dean unconscious and he dragged him away.
~present time~
He never mentioned that night in the motel room to Dean again, and Sam never brought it up. Sometimes Dean wonders what he told him; he knows better than to ask.
But now, with Cas, he's reliving it all again. He expects a fist, a wall, colossal pain spreading through his body like a fire, nails tearing into his flesh. But it never comes.
In place of the fist is a gentle hand helping him up from where he'd fallen. In the place of a wall pinning him defenseless, a sturdy hand gives him balance. And in the place of pain comes peace. The same peace he'd felt behind that soccer fence, the tranquility of lips on his. Cas isn't like Carter was, though; in a way, he's better. Because somehow, Dean realizes, he's really, truly in love. Not with some kid he knew for two months in high school who threw ham at him. Dean lets out the breath he was holding and melts into the warmth of the kiss. Cas's hands are tangled in his hair, his are wrapped around that blue tie that's always backwards and settled on Cas's shoulder, pulling him closer.
"I need you," Dean breathes, purposely this time.
"I know," came the response.
They both know the true meaning behind the exchange; they'd been saying it for years. That was always how they said it, a plea for help, a declaration of need. But not because they couldn't say it; simply because they didn't have to. Because in the way Carter Elliot gave him hope, Castiel gave him everything. It was different with Cas, more important. It was really, truly, perfectly…real. And Dean wasn't scared to say it anymore. He felt the relief of a secret kept for decades melting into reality, and he felt like maybe it wasn't a threat to him. Maybe it wasn't so complicated. Maybe it was just, purely and simply, good. And Dean was perfectly fine with that.