There was no ghost horse in the manor house in Connecticut. Nor was there a ghost horseman or footman or equine-related spirit of any kind. Still, they shot their footage in the usual fashion and even got Castiel to make a few vague statements about 'feeling the presence of the past' even though he privately confirmed that the only ghosts in the house were both benevolent and too weak to manifest. Then it was onwards to a Boston brownstone where several children had complained about a shadowy man that appeared in their room at night and watched them as they slept. That particular spirit had been very much real. They could not see him or capture him on camera, but Castiel had confirmed it. Banishing it had been easy enough for Castiel, but the whole ordeal had left a knot of unease in the pit of Dean's stomach.
From there, it was on to an old opera house in Buffalo. Dean had settled amongst broken seats with torn and faded velvet coverings to film Castiel as he stood in the center of the empty stage. Above them, murals of angels and putti and seasonal allegories swirled in cracked plaster and peeling gold leaf that still shone in the dim light. Cas, with his rumpled clothing and tired face, looked around the theater with such admiration that Dean was spellbound. When Castiel cracked a small smile, Dean wondered if he was hearing the old echoes of music once played there— if that was something that Castiel could do. He didn't ask. He let Castiel have this moment.
And so a few weeks passed and Castiel settled into their small group. Sam, Bobby, and Kevin were warming up to him as they all spent more time together, and they were starting to realize that Castiel did, in fact, have a sense of humor, even if that humor tended to be both deadpan and accidentally morbid. Kevin liked him because Castiel was the only one who addressed him with a very respectful 'Kevin Tran' every time they spoke, like Kevin was a full-on adult and not just some interning college kid. Sam liked the way that Castiel's presence had made Dean stop acting like as much of an overprotective, overbearing mother. And Bobby… well, it was hard to tell when or why Bobby liked someone. But he had collectively referred to all of them as a 'bunch a idjits' once or twice already, and that was most certainly a term of endearment.
Crowley called them every once in a while (perhaps to remind them that the Eye of Sauron was ever watchful). Each time, he told them his mysterious test audience was enjoying Castiel's role on the show. The real test, he'd tell them, would be when the episodes actually aired, and that date was coming up soon. Crowley would end each call with a veiled remark about Castiel directed towards Dean, and with each call Dean was more and more convinced that Crowley had them bugged.
In truth, very little more had happened between them since that morning in Pennsylvania (which they pointedly Did Not Talk About), beyond a few calming casual touches every now and again. Normally, Dean was a straightforward kind of guy, but things were always so different with Cas. Dean was fairly certain that the attraction he was feeling towards Castiel was not one-sided, but decided the best thing to do was to wait it out and see where they went with it. For all he knew, it would be just another passing infatuation. As the days turned to weeks, though, his feelings stuck around. If anything, they grew.
But as the days passed, Castiel became steadily paler and his attention tended to drift away in the middle of conversations. He looked drained. It was growing more and more concerning, and the reason was becoming obvious. Dean had seen Castiel sleep, but only ever in short bursts after accidentally dozing off while reading or when he was taking cat naps in the back seat of the Impala. Each night as they decided sleeping arrangements—Bobby always in one bed for his bad back and any sharing determined amongst the younger men— Castiel consistently volunteered himself to be the one who took the couch or, when there wasn't one, the floor. But as the others settled in, Cas either stayed up reading for hours or disappeared altogether. Dean was worried, and the others had clearly noticed by now as well.
Sam unlocked the door to the latest in their never-ending list of kitschy motels. This one was inexplicably East Asian themed (despite being located in the middle of Indiana and run by the old white couple that had greeted them in the lobby). The drive there had taken all day after one of the van's tires had had a blowout on the freeway. The hassle and extended travel time had worn the men down to near the point of exhaustion, and so they immediately shuffled in and set their bags down and started going about their usual routines. This included Sam offering Castiel a place on one of the beds, which at this point was done out of politeness. He declined as usual, and something in Dean broke.
"Come on, man, just take the bed," he sighed, "I'll sleep on the floor tonight."
"No, Dean, that's not necessary." Castiel looked as unruffled as ever, but there was a slight edge to his voice. Dean prodded at it.
"Look, we'll all feel better once we get some rest," Dean said, "You included."
"I'm fine." He wasn't convincing.
"You've taken the floor every night this week."
"No, yesterday there was a couch."
"Very funny. I don't think you've slept in days and—"
"That's not import—"
"Cas, you need to sleep!"
"No, I don't!"
"Of course you do!"
"I can't, Dean!" And there it was. Dean had pushed him across some invisible line. The levee broke, and anger came spilling out. Castiel glared at him, his face twisted in anger and pain. The effect was surprisingly intimidating. Castiel, mild mannered as he was, gave the impression of a deep strength hiding below his surface. Dean was then acutely aware that a key part of Castiel's personality was his restraint; something strange and eerie in the back of Dean's mind told him that, if Castiel so desired, he could tear them all apart.
Castiel tried to push past Dean and back out into the hall, but Dean had anticipated this. He grabbed Castiel by the wrist and held him firmly in place. Castiel stopped immediately and didn't try to break free. When he turned back to Dean, most of the anger had already drained away. Even through the thick fabric of Castiel's coat, the calming effect of their contact made itself known. But Castiel remained looking pale and weary, and Dean couldn't drop his concern.
"Cas." Dean dropped his voice to a low plea. Dean could guess that the other men were staring at them, if the way that he could practically feel their eyes on him was any indication, but he didn't break his eye contact with Castiel. After a few seconds of stubborn silence from both sides, Castiel looked down and away.
"Dean, really, it's fine," he said. Dean shook his head.
"No. Now come on," he said, walking towards the door without releasing his hold on Castiel. An idea had formed in his mind, and he was going to run with it.
"Where?" Castiel asked. Dean noted that Castiel had already begun to follow along and still hadn't tried to remove himself from Dean's grasp.
"We're getting another room," Dean replied without turning back, "I don't care if it's more convenient for the network or for Crowley's penny-pinching ass to cram us all in here, we're getting you an actual bed. No one's sleeping on the floor. And we're all. Going. To sleep."
He felt only a little ridiculous as he marched back through the halls of the motel. At some point, his hand had migrated down from Castiel's wrist into his hand. He kept it there until they were nearly back to the lobby, at which point it was already clear that Castiel wasn't trying to leave him.
When he returned to their first room a few minutes later, new keycard tucked safely in his pocket, Sam was the one who responded to his knock. His younger brother looked down at him in concern.
"Did you get anything?" Sam asked as he stepped aside to let Dean in.
"Yeah," Dean said, collecting his large duffel bag and Castiel's smaller one. "We're just down the hall." He gave a quick nod to Bobby and Kevin, who both looked relieved.
Sam's face bloomed into a smile. There was something slightly devious about it. Dean glared back at him. He'd figured out that there was something between Dean and Castiel, of-fucking-course he had, and now he looked like Christmas had come early; secret crushes were first on the list of topics for brotherly teasing. Dean narrowed his eyes and shot him a look that he hoped communicated Shut up, Sammy, or I'll 'accidentally' mention the teddy bear you slept with until you were fourteen in our next episode. Bitch. Sam said nothing, but the smile remained.
When Dean unlocked the room down the hall, he found that the interior was remarkably similar to the room they'd shared before, minus the balcony and with a few added tacky red paper lampshades. Dean dropped their bags and locked the door behind him and had nearly made it to the bed when Castiel emerged from the small, attached bathroom. Dean turned and his brain skittered to a momentary halt.
Castiel was wearing nothing more than a thin grey t-shirt and a pair of soft cotton boxer briefs. It was a far cry form his usual bundled up appearance and the sudden change left Dean feeling dazed. Castiel was far more lean and muscular beneath his rumpled-tax-accountant garb than Dean would have guessed. His arms were thicker than Dean could have imagined— well built, with thin, dark hair playing across tendons and veins. Dean wanted to run his fingers down them and feel the tension.
As if noticing Dean's intense interest, Castiel stepped forward to him and held out his hand, which Dean took immediately. Their fingers wove together and tingled with whatever magic bound them to each other. Then Castiel reached his other hand up to gently cup the back of Dean's neck and eased them closer together. He rested his forehead against Dean's own, and Dean allowed him to do so without pushing for anything more; really, he was too paralyzed with anticipation to do anything more.
"Dean, I've been dying to get closer to you for days, but I didn't…" He swallowed. "I feel like I'm melting into you," Castiel said after a moment. His voice was scarcely above a whisper, but vibrated through Dean all the same. "It is a pleasant feeling."
"Cas, I…" Dean swallowed against the dryness in his throat and, without entirely intending to, swiped his tongue across his lips. It was an unconscious move that he only became aware of halfway through, and a move that Castiel followed with his eyes as he breathed against Dean in their close proximity. When he brought his eyes back up again, his pupils were blown wide with what Dean had no doubt was desire.
And then Castiel pressed his lips to Dean's.
The kiss was slow and hesitant at first, but grew rapidly more exploratory as neither man pulled away. Castiel took Dean's bottom lip between his own and sucked lightly. Dean got over his initial surprise and wrapped his free arm around Castiel's back, feeling the tight muscles beneath his t-shirt as he pressed himself closer to Cas. It was nothing like kissing a woman, but he hadn't expected it to be. Castiel was all broad shoulders and strong jaw and stubble that scratched at Dean's lips and face but didn't deter him. Dean tilted his head for a better angle as their mouths worked against each other in a clash of jaws and tongues and teeth and lust and need, and their chests were pressed together as their hands roamed and tugged and breathing came in throaty huffs, and all the while Dean's mind and body screamed at him closer, closer, closer!
When they finally resurfaced, Dean's ears rushed with blood and he was nearly shaking from the adrenaline and the unsatiated hunger and half-hardness that reminded him of being a teenager all over again. Castiel looked back at him with a tiny smile. He gave Dean's hand an extra squeeze and then disentangled and went to the side of the bed.
Dean wanted more, and knew he couldn't have it. Not tonight. Not when the whole point of this room was making sure Cas got some sleep before he died or went insane. As Dean regained his breath, he stripped down to his boxers again, feeling oddly self-conscious even though Castiel was busy folding the comforter down and very purposefully not looking at him. Then he settled into the bed, looking distinctly out of place until Dean came to join him. Dean slid in between the cool sheets and turned off the bedside lamp and let his hand find its way back into Castiel's waiting counterpart.
"Thank you," Castiel said quietly. In the ambient light that filtered in from the window, Dean could just barely see Cas' outlines. "Thank you for doing this."
"You could have asked sooner," Dean said.
"I didn't know how." Castiel paused, then shuffled a little closer. "I wasn't entirely sure how you felt about me, and I didn't want to burden you."
Dean chuckled softly. "And here I was thinking you could read my mind."
"My abilities do not extend to mind reading, Dean," Castiel admonished in playful mock-seriousness.
"Well that's a relief!" Dean laughed, and he could just barely see that Castiel was smiling again as well. Then there was a lull in which neither spoke, but certain Castiel had not yet fallen asleep. "What's it like?" Dean asked, now subdued. "Normally, at night, I mean."
"Loud," Castiel replied. "I hear about many things. Most of it is unimportant." He was quiet for a long time before he continued, "And I see things when I sleep. Awful things." His voice sounded tired and haunted. Dean wrapped an arm over Castiel's waist and pulled himself closer. "But when you're here I can push it aside, focus only on the most important parts. And I'm glad you knew how to help. Maybe you're the mind reader here."
"If I were, I probably would have figured this whole thing out weeks ago." They both knew he wasn't solely referring to Castiel's sleep habits. It was quiet again. Dean stifled a yawn.
"I'm glad you're here," Castiel breathed. Dean stilled, silent for a long while.
"I'm glad I'm here, too," he replied.
Dean awoke wrapped in a warm, heavy weight. It took his sleep-scrambled brain a few seconds to remember what had happened and who that weight was. Castiel still slept. Their hands had not stayed together through the night, but their limbs had remained intertwined in constant contact. At some point, the sheets and blankets had shimmied their way to the floor, but the bed was steeped in warmth and comfort. Something had woken Dean from the deepest layers of sleep, but he rose back to the surface of consciousness in a lazy, meandering way.
On the nightstand beside him, his phone buzzed a warning. Dean disentangled one arm and reached for it, groping blindly. With the shades shut, the room was still dim even though the bright sunlight of midmorning shone through the gaps. The screen of Dean's phone blinded him momentarily; he blinked his stinging and watering eyes until he could look at it again. One missed call from Sam, his phone told him. That, and it was nearly ten. As he stared at his phone in vague comprehension, a text came through, also from Sam.
When you're done doing whatever it is you're doing, meet us for breakfast. Attached was the address for the nearest Denny's. A second later, another message said But I really don't want to know, seriously! Dean wanted to send some reply about Sam's mind being in the gutter, but swallowed it down and put his phone aside again. He turned to where Cas was stirring slightly. It occurred to Dean how long it had been since he'd actually woken up beside someone (and his brother or Bobby or Kevin definitely didn't count; it was an entirely different experience).
Dean got to watch Castiel wake up slowly. As if he could feel Dean's eyes upon him, Cas scrunched up his forehead, then opened squinting eyes into the grey half-light. He looked surprised at first, then the creases in his skin evened out again and he smiled the slightest bit.
"Sleep well?" Dean asked, with a bit of amusement at knowing the answer before he'd even asked.
"Very," Castiel replied. His voice was raspy with sleep in addition to its usual roughness, and Dean found himself sorely wishing that he had the time to lay there with Castiel for longer. Maybe they could even progress to some more fun activities with enough time…
But even as he thought of all the things they could be doing to give Sam's suspicions some credibility, Castiel began to differentiate Dean's limbs from his own. He pulled himself up to a sitting position against the headboard and stretched, his movements languid and lacking his usual restraint and economy of motion. Then he slid his legs off the side, stood, stretched again, and had disappeared into the bathroom before Dean had had a chance to sit up all the way. So, difficult as it was, Dean mentally waved away his hopes for anything even resembling a morning make out session and pushed himself up out of bed.
It wasn't until they'd dressed and checked out and Dean was back in the driver's seat of the Impala that Dean really allowed himself to process what was happening. He liked Cas, and Cas liked him. Like, like like (and at that particular thought, Dean cursed himself for sounding like such a preteen schoolgirl with a dumb crush). Initial freak out aside, Dean found himself oddly accepting of his own attraction to Castiel. Because, in all honesty, nothing felt more perfect than when they touched. And it was turning Dean into a sappy romantic.
They found the others in a corner booth. The restaurant smelled enticingly of frying dough and maple syrup and, most importantly, coffee. Dean signaled the waitress as he sat down, even though everyone else was well into their meals already. There was some shuffling to make room, and then Castiel slid onto the red pleather booth beside Dean.
Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean and Dean let himself look just a little bit smug.
"You look much better, Castiel," Sam said once Dean had ordered and the waitress had left again. He did so in pleasant manner that would only be considered teasing by Dean, because Dean knew better. "You slept, then?"
"Indeed," Castiel said. "I feel much better."
"So I take it this separate room thing is going to keep happening?" Bobby asked. Dean nodded resolutely. "Much as I'm not complaining about having a bed to myself for once, I feel like I'm missing something." He looked between Dean and Castiel with his eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. The waitress returned and Dean was grateful for both something else to focus on and the full mug of coffee she'd brought for him.
"Yeah," Kevin agreed, turning to Castiel, "Is it us? Do we overload your senses or something?"
"No," Castiel replied, "Don't blame yourselves. Dean and I share some kind of connection. When we are in contact, Dean becomes like a switch, if you will, that turns my abilities down to a more manageable level." He gave Dean that small smile again. "And he makes me feel secure." Dean chose that moment to duck his head down and take a sip of his coffee to avoid eye contact with anyone else around him. "It's quite the experience. I believe I could become addicted to touching Dean."
Dean spluttered and coughed as the hot coffee he'd inhaled threatened to choke him. Jesus. He'd have to have a talk with Cas about word choice.
Once he'd caught his breath, he chanced a glance around at the other men. Sam had one hand balled into a fist in front of his mouth and looked like he was trying his hardest not to laugh. Kevin had gone a bit red. Bobby looked on the verge of a revelation.
"Uh, Cas…" Dean trailed away as Castiel blinked at him slowly, until a look of dawning understanding came over his face.
"Oh," he said quietly, "I meant… of course…" Castiel had even begun to blush a little, and the sight made Dean feel weird and shaky and irrationally happy.
"So, are you guys, like, together, then?" Kevin asked, sounding mildly uncomfortable. There was a stretch of silence in which Dean looked at each person around the table. He could feel the muscles in his jaw tensing and relaxing again and again. It felt like a long time, though it probably wasn't. His eyes rested on Castiel last and longest, and Castiel's eyes, in turn, gave him both permission and urging encouragement.
"Yeah." He released a somewhat strangled breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding as an odd rush of adrenaline and relief flooded through him. "Yeah, we are."
There was a moment of absorption, and then Sam laughed triumphantly. "I knew it!" he crowed, smiling, "You two've been making doe-eyes at each other for weeks. Thank god you finally did something about it."
"You have been kind of mopey," Kevin agreed with a shrug and a bite of pancake. Dean's mouth fell open but no retort came out.
"Well," said Bobby, "If this is gonna be a thing, then I'm all for the separate room. Can't have you two keeping me up all night."
"Screw you guys," Dean said, but he was smiling now too. Really, of course they were going to be okay with this. Dean shouldn't have even considered otherwise.
"No, Dean," Sam teased, "That's what your boyfriend is here for."
Dean didn't know it was possible for his face to feel this warm. He started to raise his hand, which had been resting on his knee, to make what would have been a rather rude gesture that most likely would have offended any unsuspecting diner patrons caught in its range. But as he did so he bumped into Castiel's own waiting fingers, changed his mind, and let his hand settle there instead.
"Fine," Dean said defiantly, covering his movement with a shrug, "I take it this means you want all the dirty details then." Sam made a horrified, oh-dear-god-no face and Dean knew he had won. That was, of course, one of the rules; the big brother always wins.
As the five of them returned to some semblance of a normal dining experience free of any further life altering revelations, Dean allowed the word "boyfriend" to knock around in his mind, testing it out in various experimental tones and volumes. Beneath the table, Castiel's thumb traced slow, lazy circles over the back of his hand.
