Chapter Four
Monday after school, he's wringing his hands together and his stomach is flipping relentlessly and the pieces of paper are burning a hole in his back pocket. He's never done anything like this, never showed his writing to anyone, but he's not scared, just nervous. He knows Dean won't, like, ridicule him or anything, but he's still imagining worst case scenarios. That's what he does, that's who he is.
He sits down on the hard plastic bench and after a few minutes Dean shows up, at about 4:05, and he says, "Hey, Cas, how was your day?"
"Fine," Cas says in reply, but really he should have mentioned how distracted he was, how he forgot to do his homework because he spent all weekend digging through his notebooks finding something he was even a little proud of, how he didn't eat lunch because he couldn't stop watching the clock. But he can't say this, no, of course not, because it's a ridiculous reaction to someone you've known for three days. "Yours?"
"Some teenage boy spilled coffee on me." He gestures to the stain on his pants.
"Dangerous job, is it?" he says, looking at Dean's crotch because he can.
"I have to wear a safety hat. So, you got something for me?" he asks, slipping into a grin.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Cas says innocently, and Dean rolls his eyes.
"Come on, idiot, out with it."
Cas pulls the piece of paper from his back pocket and says, "Fine. One, then you gotta tell me a secret."
"That's the deal."
Cas hands him the first piece of paper. "Oh god, just, don't - don't judge me, okay?"
"'Course not. That's the point of this." He opens the piece of paper and starts reading. Cas would read it with him but he's too far away and also if he did he'd probably snatch it back and Google directions to the nearest cliff that he could throw himself off of. So he pulls out his phone and checks his messages and waits patiently but without the patience part.
"Dude," Dean says after a minute. "Dude."
"What?" Cas asks, a solid block of self-consciousness.
"That was awesome!" He grins and punches Cas on the shoulder, and Cas is kind of growing into that.
"Really? Uh, thank you."
"Fuckin' poetry, man! That's so cool!" His smile is so wide that he's showing most of his teeth and his eyes have little crinkles by them and his shirt is green today and hell if it doesn't bring out his eyes like there's no tomorrow. "I don't know why you wanted to keep this a secret, like, shout it from the rooftops or whatever."
Cas's blush finally overpowers him and creeps its way onto his face. "Thank you. Okay, your turn."
"What? Oh. Alright, let me see." He taps his finger against his chin, the piece of paper still in his hand. "Well, uh. Are we working under the assumption that you won't tell anyone what I tell you?"
"Of course. I thought that was implied."
"Uh. Okay, well. Last year, I told dad I was sleeping round a friend's house, and I went to a concert."
"Who was the concert for?"
"Don't laugh at me."
"Promise."
"Air Supply."
"Is that a person?"
Dean raises his eyebrows. "You never heard All Out Of Love?"
"Uh, no. Sorry."
"Damn. That was meant to have more impact. Although, you not knowing who they are makes it a little less shameful."
"It also makes it a pretty crappy secret."
"Who cares. Gimme that thing." He points to the remaining piece of paper in Cas's hand.
Cas hands it over and says, "Alright, now give me that one back."
"Do you have another copy?"
"No."
"Ugh. Fine." Dean hands it back and looks at the sheet he's just been given. Cas holds his breath. This time, he does read over Dean's shoulder, scooting up so he's right next to him, his side pressing slightly into Dean's, and Dean doesn't react at all. He watches Dean closely, sees his mouth move slightly as he reads, and his eyes move side to side, and his hands absently fiddle with the sides of the page.
"Jesus," Dean breathes eventually, and Cas presses his lips together.
"Um," he says.
"Jesus, Cas, where do you get this stuff from?"
"I don't know, I just. It's no good, really."
"Fuck that!" He reads from the page: "'Freedom is a length of rope / God wants you to hang yourself with it'? That's incredible."
Cas feels his blush in every inch of his body. "Really?"
"Dude, yes." Dean deliberates for a moment and then stands up with the paper, stopping a passer-by with a quick, "Excuse me."
"Yes?" says the woman.
"My friend wrote this poem, and he doesn't think it's any good, but it is, so would you mind judging?"
"Dean," Cas urges, holding his hands up to the woman in apology.
"You can be honest," Dean continues, "like, we're never gonna see you again and he's got a pretty thick skin."
"Uh, sure, alright," says the woman.
"Lovely," says Dean, and then reads the whole poem out loud to the woman. Cas listens to how he reads it, like he gets it, his voice low and smooth and so different to how he usually speaks.
Cas looks at his watch: 4:15. He hears Dean near the end of the poem and smiles sadly, because all he wants is an hour or two with this boy to hear about his childhood and his favourite music and why he's so afraid of his dad finding out about a concert. Was he raised to be masculine, always? Was he made to feel bad about himself for who he is? These are the questions Cas wants answered. He wants to hear it from Dean. He wants Dean.
"Wow, that was really good," says the woman, nodding, "but I'm not sure what it was about? I liked the imagery, though."
Dean frowns. "Well, it's about false idols, and the pointlessness of progress, the futility of aspiring to anything."
"Oh." The woman nods again. "Yes. I like that. I like it."
"Thank you for your time," Dean says to the woman, and goes to sit down beside Cas as she walks away. "See? Even people who don't get it like it."
Cas just stares at him. "You got it."
"Yeah? So?"
"I... I like you."
"Yeah? I like you too, man." Dean holds the piece of paper out in front of him and pulls out his phone, taking a picture before Cas can stop him.
"What are you doing?" Cas asks in alarm.
"I really like it, so sue me," Dean says, handing the paper back.
"Someone might read it."
"No one is guessing my phone password in a thousand years. I think you're okay."
Cas cocks an eyebrow. "If you're gonna tell anyone, tell me."
"Bite me," Dean says, rolling his eyes.
There's silence for a few seconds before Cas realises that when Dean sat back down, he sat as close as they had been before, when Cas was reading over his shoulder. Cas smiles to himself and looks down at his gloved hands.
"Hey, Dean?" he asks quietly. "Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer."
"Shoot."
"Does your dad mistreat Sam, too?"
Dean thinks for a few seconds. "Well, he went off on one when he found out Sam wanted to go to college, but apart from that, no, not really."
"Why do you think that is?"
"Because I don't let him," Dean says simply, voice hard in that quiet, private way.
Cas nods, and starts to say something else, but again, their time is up. Dean stands and says, "This is me, sorry. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Cas says, smiling.
"Better bring another piece."
"I wouldn't dare not to."
Dean grins and steps onto his bus at exactly 4:20.
