Hello, my lovely readers! I am very sorry it's taken me so long to get this chapter up: both life and school have been ridiculous. But I want to say THANK YOU so much for taking the time to leave me reviews. Honestly, without your encouragement I probably wouldn't still be writing this. So thank you! And I really hope you enjoy this next installment!

Chapter Seven

When he wakes the next morning, Dean is conflicted about whether or not he and Sam should make another appearance in church. When he peeks into Sam's room he's fast asleep, hair splayed messily over his pillows, so Dean decides to let him sleep. Dean eats, pulls on jeans and a grey sweater, and heads out to the barn.

It's warm within the insulated walls, but Dean feels uncomfortably stifled. Still undecided about a destination, he starts up the Impala and pulls out. He tears up the gravel driveway and recklessly swerves onto the road. With the windows down and his stereo up, Dean travels along the nameless county roads. There's a good feeling that comes with being nowhere, shooting straight between two yellow lines, moving so fast that no one can tell who you are. But in the back of his mind there's always a map pointing the way back to Aldhaven, trapping him.

When he gets back into town an hour later, he ends up in the church parking lot. He knows the service is almost over, and that he is underdressed and will likely be judged for it, but he goes in anyway. He's pretty sure he opens the door quietly, but all of Anna's, Cas's, and Pastor Milton's eyes focus on him when he steps in. Though they're mid-hymn, half of the parish turns around in their seats too.

At the reception afterwards, Dean steals several finger sandwiches before subjecting himself to the Miltons. Mr. Milton shakes his hand heartily, and praises him for returning for another service (however late he may have been.) Anna is moodily downcast, meeting Dean's eyes only in defiance.

Castiel, in contrast, seems ignited. He shakes Dean's hand and holds on to it while he tells him to pick him up at seven on Tuesday night.

Two bland, restless days crawl by. Dean spends most of his time thinking about Cas's eyes: their deep, imploring, entreating way of eating up every movement of Dean's lips. He thinks about the way he interrupted Anna at dinner, asserting himself singularly right before Anna's embarrassing question could be voiced. He comes up with countless unrealistic theories about why Cas had chosen that moment to announce to his family, not to mention Dean, that Dean would be driving him. He tries not to think about the sound of Gabriel's condescending laugh. He spends two hours detailing every inch of the Impala's already spotless interior.

Tuesday night at last arrives. Dean dresses himself in jeans, a black t-shirt and a warm green and blue plaid button-up.

"When are you going to be back?" Sam asks as he scarfs down the last of his hamburger.

"I don't know," Dean admits. "But don't wait up." Sam frowns at him contemptuously. Dean gives him the finger.

He gets to Cas's house early, turns his lights off and waits. He expects to be there a while, as he can see faintly through the window that the family is still gathered around the dining room table, but it's only a minute before Castiel comes out the front door, closes it with finality, and makes his way through the dark to Dean's car. He's dressed in his usual white dress shirt tucked into black jeans, but he is tie-less and his collar is open and unbuttoned. Dean stammers as he swings himself into the passenger seat and closes the door behind him.

"Hey."

"Hey," Castiel nods at him tensely. There's no trace of a smile on his face. Dean's about to ask about his day but the set of his jaw tells him that Cas isn't in the mood to talk. He almost feels like he's done something wrong already.

He puts the car into gear and starts to pull away from the house. Cas lets out a giant exhale as they leave the lights behind them. "So," Dean says. "You're gonna have to help me out a bit with directions here, I've never been to Thameswater before. Am I headed north or south?"

They sit at the empty intersection for a moment. "Actually," Cas says slowly, "if we leave now we'll probably get there too early."

"…Do you want me to come back in half an hour?"

"No. Take me to your place."

Dean looks at Cas curiously, his eyes settling on the smooth white 'v' of skin that his shirt exposes. Cas levels him with an intense gaze, hands heavily on the Bible that sits in his lap.

"Okay," Dean says.

The drive there is peaceful, the Impala carving through the thick, unilluminated darkness. Dean weighs the possibility of bringing Castiel into the house, where Sam is probably up working, but decides against it. They'll only be there for a while anyway. The barn will do.

Castiel doesn't talk, and Dean starts to worry that he's made things awkward, and that sitting staring at each other for the next twenty minutes will be uncomfortable rather than quixotic. But he reminds himself that it was Cas's idea in the first place, and tries to keep his composure.

The barn is cozy. Dean's left the soft overhead lights on, bathing everything in a hazy amber light but leaving the corners in shadow. He and Cas get out of the car.

"So," Dean gestures around, "this is my home away from home. Want a beer?"

"No, thank you," Castiel answers. Then, looking around, he adds, "I like it."

"Thanks." Dean begins to walk around the wide, blue couch that sits against the back wall. "Wanna sit down?"

"Sure." Castiel leaves his Bible on the hood of the Impala. He leans back on the couch, legs slightly apart, hands hanging between them. Dean notices the rapid rise and fall of Castiel's chest, and it makes his own heart speed up. They hold each other's gaze until Dean joins him on the couch.

"Is this where you keep your car?" Cas asks.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I was just wondering, if it, you know, stayed here… no one would be able to see it from the road."

Dean's mouth goes stupidly dry. "Yeah," Dean's voice grates against his throat. "I mean no. No one can see."

Castiel holds his gaze, and Dean stares back. Biting down on the edge of his bottom lip, the dark-haired boy looks like he's waiting for Dean to do something, say something, but Dean's mind is fuzzy and blank. The sound of his heartbeat floods his ears. After several seconds, it's Castiel that looks away first.

"So," Dean starts. "That dinner…"

"Pretty awkward. I know."

"Your brother's a jerk," Dean says honestly, and Castiel looks over at him. His features soften.

"Gabriel? He's just very frank, I suppose."

"No, he's a dickwad. And for the record, I will gladly spend four hours a week in a car with you. Or," Dean shrugs, looks away, "you know, anywhere."

In the pause that follows, Dean can hear the catch in Castiel's breath.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas?"

"Can I tell you something?"

Dean nods, and leans in half an inch. He wants to be closer, wants to bury his nose in the crook of Cas's neck and breath in the scent of him. He watches Cas swallow, part his beautiful lips, sigh. He waits for him to speak, suspended in the unbearable gravity of dim light and blue eyes.

"I've always felt like there's something… wrong with me." The last whispered words fall into the air. "Something that other people see and push away. I've always felt broken, somehow…" Castiel looks up at Dean with a quiet fear in his eyes. Dean realizes that simultaneously what Cas is trying to say, and that this is likely the first time he's ever said it out loud. "As I grew up, I felt like I was trapped in this cage. I could never say what I was really thinking. My parents always told me to turn to the Bible if I was struggling, but…"

"…that just made it worse," Dean finishes. "Trust me, I know."

A look of disbelief crosses Cas's features for a second. "You…?"

Dean nods. "Back when we used to move around a lot, we passed through this town. I can't remember the name of it. But when we moved there, I'd left someone behind from the last town." Dean clenched and unclenched his jaw. "It was this… guy. Named Adam. We went out a few times, and dammit, I really started to like him. When we had to leave, I stewed over it for days. I didn't have anyone to talk to, and I couldn't reach him. Then one Sunday, Sammy started begging me to take him to church; he was doing a school project on it, or something. So we went to this Catholic church, and for some stupid reason I decided it would be a good idea to pop into the confession booth. I guess I just wanted someone to talk to. One thing led to another and I ended up saying too much. The priest found out who I was. He gave me a personal invitation to the next service, and I guess I just wanted to feel like I belonged somewhere, so I went. After the service he came up to me, said he wanted to show me something, took me to the back room and beat the living daylights out of me. Said if I kept on 'being a faggot' that I'd go straight to hell, and that he was saving my soul."

Cas looks pained, and Dean can't decide if he was right to tell him or not. The younger boy starts shaking his head, slower and then more surely, defiantly.

"No."

Dean's heart freezes. No? Had he fucked up? Maybe Cas wasn't like him after all. "Uh," he scrambles to save the situation, "Sorry, uh, like I wasn't implying that about you or anything, like, that you're… I just… um…"

"No," Cas says again. He suddenly covers Dean's hand with his own warm one. "I mean, god, Dean…" There are tears brimming in his eyes. His other hand lands on Dean's arm, bringing them closer together, face to face. "You have no idea…"

Dean carefully reaches up and brushes his thumb across Cas's lower eyelashes, letting the teardrop fall into the space between his thumb and forefinger. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Cas takes a trembling breath and looks at Dean, the dampness of his eyes making the blue look dangerously electric. "From the moment you walked into church the other week, I just… I never thought you would actually…"

Dean leans closer. Cool relief floods into his chest, mixing with burning desire. "…be okay with this?"

Cas laughs, a tragic, throaty laugh. "Have you met the people in this town?"

Dean doesn't answer. Instead, he cover's Cas's lips with his own.

Cas gasps into his mouth but presses forward, balancing his own forehead against Dean's and digging his fingers into Dean's bicep. He experimentally presses his lips against Dean's, and he lets him grow still and enjoy the feeling of soft lips on lips for a moment. Dean's heart is beating out of control, making the skin all over his body tingle into nothingness. The logical part of his brain is telling him that this isn't possible: he can't be kissing the most perfect boy in town, the one who carries the hopes of the whole community on his shoulders. Cas flicks his tongue over Dean's lips and Dean's body starts convincing him otherwise. Dean puts an arm behind Cas's back and pulls him closer, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth and ripping ragged breaths out of Cas with the movements of his tongue. Giving in to Dean's pull, Cas swings a leg over Dean's lap and straddles him, treating Dean to the full view of the sliver of exposed chest, and the feeling of his pants being a little tighter than they usually were.

Dean pulls away, but keeps his hands on Cas's sides, running them up and down from his ribcage to his hips. "Cas," he breathes, "I don't want to move too fast, if you…"

"I know," Cas finishes his thought. He leans forward and kisses him gently, teasingly on the lips. "But Dean, you have no idea how long I've wanted this. You have no idea how much time I've spent thinking about you." He rolls his hips slowly, experimentally, and Dean groans. Adrenaline coursing through him, Dean flips Cas over so he's lying on his back on the couch, Dean over top of him. Cas's eyes are blown wide and hazy with lust, and his lips are worried red.

"Cas, are you sure…?"

"Yes." He pulls Dean down roughly by the collar of his shirt, joining their lips again. He picks up on Dean's moves and copies them with his own tongue. Although he's kissed many people, Dean has to admit that he hasn't had a kiss like this in a very, very long time. He lowers some of his weight down on to Cas, the place where their cocks touch beneath the fabric of their jeans growing unbearably hot. Dean starts kissing harder, and Cas responds, a mess of teeth and lips and breath and pushing, grabbing, delicious pressure.

"God, Cas," Dean whispers between the insistent kisses of the boy beneath him, "you're so fucking amazing." He's about to start unbuttoning the rest of Cas's rumpled shirt when the realization hits him like a bucket of cold water. "Shit," he says, pulling himself up, "what time it is? We're gonna be late for your bible group thingy."

Cas stays reclined on the couch, his arms lazily folded above him, his cheeks flushed red. There is an easy, radiant smile on his face. "Dean," he says, turning his head and laughing into his shoulder. He pushes himself up onto his elbows and beckons Dean closer. When Dean comes, he runs his fingers through Dean's hair, up around his ears, and kisses him again, his tongue mingling with Dean's, their breaths flowing together. He meets Dean's eyes, and the beautiful, bashful smile graces his features again. "There is no bible study group."