"They're cutting the tree down in five days," Sam says, shoving a dripping spoonful of lucky charms into his mouth. Dean pours himself some coffee and rolls his eyes. He's so fucking sick of everyone obsessing over that stupid tree. "How d'you think Cas is gonna handle it?"
He shrugs. "Why the fuck would I know?"
"Stop with the language."
"Sorry, mom." He flashes her a smile, aiming for something relatively loveable. All it gets him is a stern look.
Sam pokes him in the arm. "You're being weird. Is this about Cas?"
"Oh, God… Find something else to talk about, will you?"
"It's a pretty big deal, Dean."
"Why, exactly?" He throws his half-eaten Pop Tart onto his plate and screws his face into a frown. "Some nobody nerd ties himself to a tree, and suddenly cutting it down is a big deal? No one gave a crap about the tree before Cas got involved. This whole town is so fucking fake."
"Jesus, Dean." His mom turns from the stove and puts her hands on her hips, a tell-tale sign that she's majorly pissed off. "I told you to stop swearing like a sailor. And please, quit trash-talking the neighbours. We don't need that kind of drama."
"They love trash-talk, mom. It gives 'em something to moan about."
She narrows her eyes. "You're in a very argumentative mood today, aren't you? Is something wrong?"
"Nope." He goes back to eating his breakfast, hoping to deflect the conversation. A heavy silence follows. He can feel his mom watching him closely from across the room, her signature 'I'm calling bullshit' frown slowly taking form. But before she gets the chance to start her interrogation, his dad walks into the room.
"Morning, all," he says, reaching for the jug of orange juice in the centre of the table. When no one responds, he adds, "What did I miss?"
"Dean's being an ass again."
"Shut up, Sam."
"They're arguing about the tree," his mom explains calmly. "Dean doesn't believe it's a very noble cause. He thinks the town is only pretending to care because Castiel is taking a stand."
His dad shrugs. "Well, he ain't wrong."
"John –"
"Well, think about it, Mary. It's a small town; people get bored… Stuff like this excites 'em. Doesn't mean they actually care."
"But Castiel does," his mom shoots back, lifting a challenging eyebrow. Sam and Dean exchange a look; their folks rarely fight in front of them. "I know the neighbours can get carried away, but at least they're taking an interest. They're giving him the publicity he needs to get his message across."
John shakes his head. "He's just a kid, Mary. What d'you think he's gonna do when they tear it down? He's gonna lose that spark of his, that's what'll happen."
Dean deflates. He tries to imagine Castiel without his inane optimism – just another miserable sucker going through the motions of life. It makes him feel sick. He might not understand the other boy's unshakeable faith, but he's always respected it.
Having people like Castiel in the world is weirdly comforting; it's nice to know that not everyone has lost hope, that there are still some people who believe they can make a difference. They might be naïve, but at least they care about something. Dean's never really cared much about anything besides writing, and that's just a pipedream.
Maybe Castiel was right; maybe he is dispassionate…
"I think you underestimate him," his mom says, aggressively sliding three rashers of bacon onto a plate. She cracks a spitting egg into the pan and tosses her hair aside. "Just because he's young, doesn't mean he isn't strong. That boy's gonna go far in life… Just you wait and see."
"I hope you're right." His dad takes a thoughtful sip of orange juice, then turns to Sam. "What're your thoughts, boy?"
Sam shrugs. "I think it's awesome."
"Oh, really?" Dean scoffs. "Go tie yourself to a tree then."
"Why don't you?"
"'cause I don't care."
"Liar." Sam points his spoon at him accusingly, flicking droplets of milk across the table. "I saw you watching Cas from your window the other night. It was kinda creepy."
"Fuck off."
His dad clears his throat. "Language, Dean."
"Christ." He groans, dragging the skin beneath his eyes over his cheeks. They're so fucking persistent. "Can we make a new rule? No talking about Cas at the table? No, scrap that. No talking about Cas at all."
Sam snickers. "You've got it bad."
Dean throws the Pop Tart at his head.
"Stop it, you two," his mom scolds them gently. She's wearing a smile, but Dean can see her patience quickly waning beneath the surface. "Seeing as you're clearly finished with your breakfast, Dean, you can take a glass of orange juice out to Castiel. Oh, and bring back the dishes from last night while you're at it."
"You've gotta be kidding me."
She smirks. "Everyone else is busy eating. This has nothing to do with your crush on Castiel."
"I don't have a crush!"
Sam bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, Dean! You've gone bright red!"
"Whatever." He scrapes back his chair and grabs a glass from the cabinet, purposely shouldering past Sam on his way across the room. He fills the glass with juice, flicks a scowl across the room, then kicks the back door open.
It's warmer outside this morning. Pale sunlight spills across the lawn, glinting off the beads of dew clinging to the long grass. He can see the tree in plain sight, along with Castiel's dangling legs. There's something moving back and forth amongst the branches, and it takes him a moment to realise that Castiel is waving to him. He ignores the fluttering in his chest and tries to act nonchalant.
"Hey," he greets him curtly. "Brought you some juice."
Castiel beams down at him. "Thank you, Dean. That's very kind of you."
"Well, my mom forced me to, so…"
"I see." His smile doesn't falter. "I appreciate your mother's kindness, but she really doesn't have to keep doing this. My parents visit me three times a day; they always bring food and water with them. I'm really quite alright."
Dean shrugs. "My mom's a worrier, man. You're not gonna shake her off that easily." He balances the glass on one of the lower branches, then says, "I can't imagine my folks letting me do this kinda thing by myself. Why aren't you protesting with your parents?"
"This is my first solo stance," Castiel explains. Something shifts in his expression, his smile thinning into a sneer. "I'm the only person in this entire town who cares about the fate of this tree. It's disgraceful, really. Did you know it's been here for almost 165 years? And now a bunch of pompous, greed-induced businessmen are going to tear it down for a little extra money in their pockets… They have absolutely no respect for nature, or the profound effect it can have on humanity." He takes a breath, a single tear slipping down his cheek. "This tree is very important to me. That's why I'm here, fighting for its life. I don't expect to win, but… I have to try."
Dean nods. He's not sure why, but he does. He has no idea how or why a person can care so much about a tree, but there's no mistaking the grief in Castiel's eyes. This isn't an act; he isn't faking anything. There's an inexplicable bond between him and this hunk of wood – one that ignorant, scornful people like Dean will never understand.
He suddenly feels very small and very stupid.
"That sucks," he says, looking down at his feet. He doesn't feel worthy of meeting Castiel's eyes. "It's good that you're trying though, right? Maybe you'll make a difference."
Castiel's face softens again. "I hope so."
Dean scuffs the moist earth beneath his heel, then lifts his eyes. Castiel is smiling down at him, his eyes gleaming fondly. It's a dangerous look. Dean remembers seeing that same smile on Castiel's face four years ago, right before he leaned in and pressed their lips together. Seeing it again makes him feel like a jerk. He doesn't deserve that smile; he doesn't deserve Cas.
"I, uh… I better go." He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "I've gotta get ready for school. You finished with those dishes from last night?"
"Of course." Castiel hands him the plate and mug, then takes the proffered glass of juice. "I'll drink this now." He throws it back in two gulps, wipes a dribble of juice from his chin, then hands it back to Dean. "Please, tell your mother I said thanks again."
He nods stiffly, trying to ignore the glistening sheen of juice coating Castiel's lips. They look even more kissable when they're wet.
"Sure thing."
"Thank you, Dean." Castiel bows his head, 100% sincere. "I really appreciate you visiting me like this. Even if your mother did force you. It's nice to have someone to talk to."
Dean cringes, feeling like an asshole. "Yeah, no problem. I guess."
"Feel free to come back whenever you like."
"I'll think about it."
"Don't take to too long," Castiel says, forcing a smile. Beneath his thinly-veiled façade, Dean can see how hopeless he really feels. "I may not be here for much longer."
Dean rolls his eyes. "You're not gonna die, Cas."
"I fear a part of me might."
He frowns, silently prompting Castiel to elaborate, but the other boy doesn't say a word. Dean takes that as his cue to leave. He gives Castiel a small, wavering smile, then crosses the road and cuts across the lawn.
Before he goes back inside, he glances over his shoulder. Castiel is leaning against the trunk with his head tipped back, feeling the breeze against his face. There's a contented smile touching his orange-tinted lips. He looks peaceful and happy and beautiful, and Dean finds himself falling in with him love all over again.
