Dean wrapped the towel around his waist, eying his scar-less, rather sculpted abs, smirking at himself in the mirror.
Yup. He was still a handsome devil.
He stepped out of the bathroom, humming Ramble On under his breath, bobbing his head up and down. His shirt lay on the bed, and he made his way to it, shuffling to the beat, singing, "Sometimes I grow so tired, but I know I've got one thing I got to do." He picked the shirt up, getting ready for the chorus, turning around as he put his heart and soul into the lyrics, belting out, "Ramble on! And now's the time, the time is now, to sing my––Jesus motherfucking––The hell, Cas!"
Cas stood right in front of his face, blinking at him. "Hello, Dean."
Dean ran a hand over his face, forcing himself to take a deep breath and calm down his pounding heart. Don't strangle the angel. Don't strangle the angel. Don't strangle the goddamn angel. "Dammit, Cas, this is, what, the third time this week you've done this? Jesus, can't ya come through the fucking door like a normal person? You have to zap yourself right behind me?"
Castiel tilted his head. "I don't see the problem."
"Move. Back," Dean said through gritted teeth.
Castiel took a step back.
"More."
He took another step back.
"Thank you," Dean intoned, sarcasm dripping off his words.
"You are...welcome," Castiel said, eyebrows furrowed.
Dean sighed, shutting his eyes. "That was sarcasm, Cas."
"Oh. All right."
Dean stared at Cas.
He stared back. "How should I respond?"
"You don't respond, Cas, ya don't."
"Then why are you––"
"You know what? Leave it," Dean said.
"But I don't understand––"
"Cas, I ain't gonna explain sarcasm to you right now, 'kay? I need to explain personal space. You know what that is?" Dean asked, glaring at Cas before remembering that it wasn't his fault––he was an angel. He doubted angels even had the concept of personal space. His face softened of its own accord.
"I...I don't understand. What are you trying to say," Cas said, brows furrowed deeper.
"Personal space is my space. It's space that ya don't want people––or angels––to invade. Ya see me an' Sammy less'n an inch apart when we're talkin'? No. An' ya know why?" He paused, looking at Cas, waiting for him to answer with a patient, almost-patronizing smile on his face.
They stared at each other, and Cas, realizing that Dean wanted a reply, answered, "I...don't know."
"Personal space, Cas, personal space," Dean answered, smile falling off, replaced with a glare.
"But you invade the...personal space of others, Dean."
"When?"
"When you're kissing other females," Cas answered. "Or when you're hugging Sam. Or when you're hugging a female––your date is what I believe you generally call her. Or when you're engaging in sexual intercourse with––"
"That, Cas, is different," Dean said, and then, realizing what Cas had said, asked, "And how do you know when I'm having, y'know, with a girl?" Dean's eyes widened as a possibility entered his mind, and he spluttered, "You're not––God, Cas, you're not fucking watching, are you?"
"Dean. I may not be adept at understanding this sarcasm of yours, but I wasn't born yesterday. I know that the reason you bring a woman to a motel or go to her house is because you have intentions of engaging in sexual intercourse." He paused, and then continued with that 'I am surrounded by idiots,' non-expression he'd become an expert at, "And, no, I don't watch, Dean."
Dean cleared his throat, averting his eyes. "Yeah, well, whatever." He shifted from foot to foot, suddenly remembering that he was, in fact, both shirtless and pant-less. "Cas, as I was sayin', that's different. Because I have permission to invade their 'personal space.' They like it."
Cas blinked at him. "How do you have their permission."
"Because we both want to get...y'know, closer. That's how."
"How do you know that they, too, want to get closer. You can't read minds," Cas said.
"No, but––well, I just know, okay? 'Sides, you're not my date."
"I'm not, you're correct. But you also invade Sam's personal space. He's not your date, either."
Dean looked at the ceiling. "Cas, I still have his permission. It's different. I don't pop up behind him and say, 'Hello, Sam,'" he said, mimicking Cas's gravelly voice.
"...I don't sound like that, Dean."
"That ain't the point!" He took a deep breath. "Cas, listen to me. Ya can't just pop up behind me, and ya can't stand less'n a foot close to me, all right?"
"...Okay. However, I still don't understand what the problem is," Cas said, looking at Dean, all seriousness and intensity.
Dean ran another hand over his face. "Cas...I feel...uncomfortable with you an inch away from my face."
"Why."
"Because...because I don't know! I just do, all right?"
Cas tilted his head to the side again. "I don't feel uncomfortable."
"That's 'cause you're an angel. Ya don't even have the concept of personal space."
Cas gave a slow now. "I...understand. Sort of. You don't want me near you."
"What? No!"
"But you just said…"
"No, Cas, I don't mind you bein' near me, I just don't want ya in me. All right?"
"I'm...confused, Dean. What do you want from me," he said in his usual monotone, regarding Dean with a confused, slightly annoyed stare.
"Just...don't invade my personal space."
"I don't understand what you mean by this personal space," Cas said, voice raised.
Dean ran a hand over his face, scowling. "Okay, Cas. Let me explain. Personal space? It's a fancy term for get outta my ass. Okay? Don't come too near me, 'cause it's weird and creepy. Unless I give you permission to come closer, in which case it's fine."
"So...you don't want me too close to you." At Dean's nod, Cas continued, slowly, "But why would you give me permission to do so if you don't want me to be too near."
Dean gritted his teeth, taking a slow, deep breath. "I just said that, Cas. It don't mean anything. Just...are we clear?"
Cas mulled it over. "Yes. I believe we are. You're uncomfortable if I'm too close to you, and thus don't want me too close to you."
"Yes. Good."
"...But why don't want me too near you?"
Dean sighed. "I just don't, okay, Cas?"
Castiel looked at Dean, blinking. "All right."
There was an awkward silence as Dean and Cas both stared at each other. Dean averted his eyes. "We done here?"
"I believe so, yes," Cas answered, still staring at him.
Dean waited. And waited. And waited some more. "...Ya don't have anythin' else ta do, Cas?"
"No."
"Then why'd ya come here?"
"Sam called me. He said he had some information."
"About what?" Dean asked when it became apparent Cas wasn't going to continue.
Cas opened his mouth, then closed it. "I don't believe he said about what."
"And you just came anyway?"
"Yes."
Dean was about to question Cas' intelligence when the door was jostled and Sam stepped in, holding two coffees.
"Hey, Dean––Oh. Um. Am I interrupting something?" he asked, staring at Cas and then Dean and then at Cas again.
"What––no. No, why'd you think that?" Dean asked, taking a step back, looking at Sam as if he were an idiot.
"No...reason," Sam answered, eyes lingering on his torso. His shirtless torso.
Dean scowled and put his shirt on. "Shut up."
Sam bit down on a grin. "I'm not saying anything."
"Shut. Up," Dean repeated.
That time, Sam did grin.
"Sam. What information do you have," Cas said, staring at him with his usual intensity.
"Oh. Oh, yeah. It was a false alarm," Sam said, giving Cas an entirely unapologetic apologetic smile. "Sorry 'bout that."
"What do you mean, a false alarm," Cas said, eyes narrowing.
Dean glared at Sam. "Yeah, Sam. What do you mean, a false alarm."
"I though I had some information." He shrugged. "Turns out I didn't."
Dean gave Sam his patented 'I-am-unimpressed' look.
"What?" Sam said, all gooey-eyed innocence.
"Sam. What's the real reason that you called me here," Cas asked, eyes still narrowed.
Sam looked between Cas and Dean again, a smirk making its way onto his face. "No reason. No reason at all."
Dean debated whether or not punching Sam's face would be worth the wasted coffee.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Please, do let me know how it is. :)