"Let me in the wall, you've built around

And we can light a match and burn it down.

Let me hold your hand and dance 'round and 'round the flame.

In front of us,

Dust to dust."

Dust to Dust by The Civil Wars

Teach Me How to Die and Live Again

Chapter four

Dean watched the door Castiel just disappeared behind. It was stupid how fire just shot up inside him, how it spread from his heart to the tips of his fingers to his knees and his feet; Dean pressed his forehead to the steering wheel and let out a deep breath. This wasn't happening, because this was deeper than the stupid crush he felt when he first saw Castiel's eyes shine. The last time he felt like this was when he was dating Lisa last year, junior year, before he'd even paid Castiel any attention. He tightened his grip on his jeans and let go again, realizing he should probably be getting home before Cas thought he was some stalker.

He blasted AC/DC all the way home, anything to force away the memory of the last look Cas gave him, excited and bright, not at all the placid, stony face he glued on most days. Great, now he was thinking about it. Dean turned the volume up as loud as he could stand it and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The streets were near empty, and Dean sped seventy miles an hour in a forty-five zone. When he finally got home he shut the music off, still hearing the faint buzzing of what used to be there. The door opened and shut too easily.

His father wasn't home, but Dean was used to that. Sam, who was sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, turned his head and a smile lit up his face.

"Dean!" he chimed.

Dean ruffled the boy's hair and gave him a crooked smile as he slung his backpack to the other side of the room.

"Hey, Sammy," he said, "Did you eat yet?"

"Yup! Mac 'n cheese."

"That's awesome. Was it good?" Dean was a few steps nearer to his bedroom, but kept his eyes on his brother.

Sam nodded his head wildly. "Want me to make you some?"

"Nah," Dean waved him off. "I got too much homework."

With that, Dean disappeared into his bedroom. He flopped onto his bed and pulled his phone from his back pocket. Part of him wanted to text Castiel, and maybe he could have, maybe he would have, but it doesn't really matter what might have happened because reality is that he didn't. He scrolled down once and he tapped the next name in his contacts.

Dean: Emergency.

Charlie: Does this involve a certain blue-eyed boy?

Dean: When were you planning on telling me how you read minds?

Charlie: I'll be there in ten minutes.

Dean looked up at the ceiling, in lack of anything to do. His phone lay discarded to his right. What was mistaken for simple fascination was something akin to love at first sight, something that, even if you asked Dean today, he would say he doesn't believe in. He would hardly say what was bundled up, hardly unwanted in his chest was love because love was a fantasy.

It's... Stupid. That the only word Dean can find that fits it. It's stupid how he could start to feel his insides tangle up at the simple thought of this man, how the memory of any one spoken word could make his insides melt like butter in the microwave. Sharp talons ripped through his rib cage, coated in dark, sticky rejection, he didn't know what his mind could supply that could make this worth it.

I know nothing about Castiel! scream after scream in his subconscious. He didn't know what music he listened to, what he wore to bed, what he like to put on a sandwich from Subway, hell, how much milk he liked in his cereal, if he liked cereal at all. He didn't know if Castiel parted his hair on the left or on the right because he hadn't spent enough time staring. He didn't know if Cas shampooed and then conditioned his hair or if he skipped conditioner altogether, he didn't know if he wore chapstick or licked his lips when they were dry, he didn't know if he washed his clothes on the weekends or on a weekday- and the worst above it all is that Dean wanted to know all of this. He didn't know how he lived before never wondering these things.

This is how love works: You meet. You date. You say, "hey, I really like this person." You screw around, break some feelings, shed some tears. You make up. You say, "hey, I really love this person," "Hey, this is worth it."

This is not how love works: You meet. You spend a good half year trying to make the other person punch you in the face, which actually results in the person you love trying to kill themself. You give them a reason to stay. The person you love doesn't reciprocate, hardly wants to be your friend, and hardly speaks to you. You are somehow stuck in something stupid that people often call "love."

Castiel, beautiful face, beautiful name, beautiful soul, somehow Dean got himself caught in some stupid trap, as if Castiel had hunted many like him before. Dean felt ripped apart and tied, suffocatingly tight, at the same time. How anyone could ever try to call love something great, Dean had no idea. Whoever tried name this thing, define this thing, deserves a medal, (and honestly, probably got one, too.)

"Hold the applause, it's all right, it's just me," Charlie opened the door without knocking. Dean hardly looked up, so Charlie added, "But a little recognition would be nice."

"I really like Cas," Dean said distantly, eyes wide and upon the ceiling. His arms were outstretched by his sides, hanging off the sides of the bed.

"Well I could have told you that."

"I mean I really really like him," he said softer, hushed, because it scared him how much he had plummeted since yesterday, hell, an hour ago.

Charlie was probably sitting somewhere by Dean's desk, but Dean didn't look at her to make sure. He felt breathless.

"Lisa-kind-of-like?"

"Yeah," Dean whispered, "More."

"Wow."

They fell quiet, and Dean wished she would say something, anything, because the silence allowed Castiel to creep back into his mind, unwelcome yet invited at the same time. Like a dog coming when called, but restricted by a leash.

"Don't you think you're moving too fast?" Yes. "I mean, how long did you know Lisa before you guys got together?"

"Two years. She was on the cheer squad and I was a football player. It's kinda a given."

"And Castiel?"

Dean nearly stopped breathing at even the mention of Castiel's name. Stop it, this is stupid. So fucking stupid, it's fake, it's unreal. "Um. This year. I don't know when." He was always just kinda there, he added in his head.

"Maybe you just feel bad. Protective," Charlie offered.

"Protective?" Dean finally sat up. "How?"

Charlie was, as Dean predicted, sitting at his desk. She had her legs cross and her "thinking face" on, as Dean called it. She sort of scrunched up her nose every once and a while when she was thinking.

"Well, you did ask me for everything on Cas' life, (I probably should have known by then you 'really liked' him,) and well..." she trailed off, looking at her hands. "I didn't read it all. I did read some, and what I read wasn't pretty. Maybe you just feel bad about what happened to him."

Dean followed her eyes and stared at her hands as she fidgeted. He laid back down and looked at the ceiling again. At least it was a nice color. He didn't want to think about that file. He didn't want to think about what happened to Cas, he didn't want to think about what he said to him about it because he's fucking stupid. Just... Reading it, it sort of clicked, and it registered how dark it was to have happened, but it didn't really seem real. Sort of like reading a book you're forced to read for class, going through the motions, not really getting attached, it's completely fictional.

You want to rape me, too? Castiel's voice came wrecking, crashing, like nails on a chalkboard, a hammer to a thin, cheap, motel room wall. A single sentence to chill his bones and his heart to those bones, suddenly it was just so real. And it tore Dean apart.

"I say the worst things," he said, barely audible. "I can't believe the words I've said, not just to Cas, to anyone. Things just go flying and I can't stop it. Regret doesn't do much when words have already done their damage," and the damage they can cause is great, "How could anyone ever look at me the way I look at Cas with how I am?"

"Oh no you don't," Charlie was standing now. "You're not going to turn this into some self-pity session because I'm not listening to it. Dean Winchester," Charlie said loudly, pointing a dainty finger at his face. "You are great just as you are, as you can tell, you're friends with me."

"Charlie-"

"Nuh-uh, Say it with me, 'I'm Dean Winchester and-"

"Not again," Dean groaned. "I take it all back. I'm a great person."

"Too little too late," Charlie grinned. "You gotta say it. Come on, 'I'm Dean Winchester and I-"

"I'm Dean Winchester and I kick ass better than Harry Potter, if that were possible," Dean dragged a hand down his face. "I don't even like Harry Potter. We've been over this a million times."

"Of course you do! Everyone loves Harry Potter!"

Dean caught Castiel as he was about to pass the cafeteria the next day. He looked just like he always did. He was a wreck, his hair was, it was all over the place, and his eyes were crazed as always. They were like the running rivers, splashing and moving, yet tranquil and soft, not to mention the color. Dean could hardly find his voice.

"Dean?"

"Hey, Cas," he rushed out. "What'cha doin'?"

Cas looked at him for a little bit before he responded, "I was on my way to the library."

Damn, did Cas ever look away? His eyes kept knocking softly into Dean's, never giving him a break. Dean was forced to look away, straight ahead, then flickering to the windows in the hallway.

"Want to eat lunch with me?" He offered, voice sounded much calmer than he felt.

Castiel's head tilted just a bit to the left. "I told you yesterday I don't eat lunch."

Dean nodded and spoke with his hands, "And I told you that wasn't good. You should eat."

"I eat enough at home."

"You already told me that, too," Dean laughed. "Just- Come with me, alright?"

Dean's eyes turned back to Castiel's with the smallest prediction that Castiel might have looked away, but he hadn't. It would have been less affecting to drive a wooden stake through his chest.

Castiel said, "All right," though, and Dean gave him a grin. The corners of Castiel's lips tugged upwards in such an unnoticeable, subtle way that Dean would have missed it had it happened any other day in the past.

Dean led them through a door that looked like a janitor's closet but wasn't. There was a staircase that led to the roof, unkempt concrete stairs without a handrail.

"Are we even... Allowed up here?" Castiel said, his voice touching Dean's shoulder.

Dean looked back at him, smiling and dangling a key in Cas' sight, "Ellen- Er, Principal Harvelle gave me a key. She trusts me up here. She's like a mom to me."

The key clicked in the lock and Dean pushed the gate open. The air was so much cleaner up where they were, and Dean smiled wider. He turned around, cupping his hands around his mouth to shout through the wind for Castiel to close the gate behind him. He did. The wind made Castiel's hair even crazier and Dean had to keep himself from laughing, but didn't do a very good job of it.

"What's funny?" Castiel asked, face as still as stone.

Dean chuckled and leaned over to smooth over Cas' hair. It didn't help at all, which made Dean grin wider. "Your hair is a mess," he laughed, and he didn't know why it was so amusing.

Castiel was rigid and still under his hand as Dean pulled away, clearing his throat. He had a small bag of lunch which he opened and shared with Castiel. He tore a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in half and held one piece out to Castiel. With a hesitant hand, Castiel took the sandwich and bit into it. His eyes were wide, beautiful and bright, a word Dean would use over and over to describe Castiel's eyes, as he took another bite, finally taking a break from staring at Dean in favor of staring at the sandwich.

"This is very good," he said softly. "Did you make it?"

Dean said, "Yeah," and distracted himself from Castiel enough to take a bite.

"What's in it?" he heard Castiel ask distantly and looked over to see him pulling the pieces of bread apart.

"Peanut butter and jelly," Dean laughed, "You've never had PB & J before?"

Castiel shook his head and put the sandwich back together to take another bite. His attention was focused it, he hummed in thought. "Gabriel normally makes more complicated foods. He likes to cook."

Gabriel, the name sounded vaguely familiar. Dean just nodded and finished the last of his sandwich. It was quiet. Peaceful. Dean directed his attention back to Castiel as his friend licked some jelly off of his thumb.

"Gabriel is my uncle," Castiel confided. "He takes care of me."

Dean nodded and watched the profile of Cas' face, the sun hanging over their heads and bringing light upon the opposite side of his face.

"Are you going to the Spring Formal?" Dean blurted out of no where.

Castiel's head turned, somehow graceful, and with a still expression he replied, "Why would I?"

Dean rubbed his neck, "I dunno," he mumbled, "It's a few months away, but people are talking about it already. You should go. It's your senior year right? You should just go for the heck of it. For experience, y'know?"

Castiel watched Dean fumble through his words, face revealing no thought at all, eyes blank, like they absorbed everything and let nothing out. "I'm not sure what I would want to experience about a room full of people, a lot of... touching, alcohol."

Dean shrugged, "Well maybe, with someone you liked, you wouldn't mind the touching or getting a little tipsy. Might be fun."

"I've never met someone that I wanted to touch," Castiel said, deadpan, "Or to get drunk with."

Not a safe topic, not safe, Dean chanted in his mind, but his mouth ignored it. "Not all touching can be bad, you know," he said, and he put his hand on top of Castiel's. "Is this bad?"

The only reaction Castiel showed was the slightest twitch of his finger, and Dean almost thought he wasn't going to respond. In half a minute, though, Castiel said quietly, hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure if he should respond this way or not, "Yes."

Dean yanked his hand back, lips parted as if he wanted to say something. "Um- Sorry-" he stuttered.

Castiel watched him, eyes this great abyss and face as still as the cliff Dean wanted to fling himself off at the moment. He didn't shrug or any other type of response Dean would have expected from anyone else. Dean glanced down at his watch, leaping up to his feet.

"We should probably get to class."

A/N: Yet another chapter... Let me know what you think or if you have predictions or suggestions or anything c: