A/N: So I'm really sorry but I think the next chapter of The College Years is gonna have to come a little late! Only one or two days, but since I had the next chapter of To Build a Home finished and ready, I thought I'd post it to ease the wait.
I'm also sorry since I believe I promised a load of fluff for this chapter? Which, like, you get in part, but... (spoiler alert) towards the end it's mainly just hurt. Sorry. *Promises happy ending again to lessen the pain*
ALSO: big tw/cw for this chapter:
- use of the q-slur (Dean uses it in reference to himself, twice I think, but I know that like all words it can be pretty powerful and has caused/can cause a lot of hurt, so I thought I'd put a warning in.
- Internalised homophobia, I guess? (or biphobia, as the case may be). Or rather mentions of it, but it being spoken of/referenced to in what is pretty much the past tense.
- Talk of/reference to attempts at conversion therapy/attempts at making Dean straight through religion/scare tactics. More on that later.
(- Also, John Winchester's A+ parenting. But again, more on that later)
Chapter 8
9 years, 6 months, 1 week, and 4 days earlier
(Saturday, April 7th, 2007)
"You ready?"
Dean had let himself into Cas's house, nodding to Jimmy, who sat reading in the front room and glanced up to smile warmly at Dean as he climbed the stairs to Cas's room. Now he watches as Cas fumbles for the last of his things, every bit as unsophisticatedly graceful as a wild cat.
"Think so," Cas frowns distractedly, glancing about his bedroom. Dean leans against the doorframe, grinning affectionately at his friend, who wears a dark green sweater and ripped pale jeans, rolled up at the bottom. The dark-haired boy pulls on his pair of beaten, ruddy-brown Doc Martens.
"Lookin' good, Cas," Dean smirks. Castiel glances up at him and rolls his eyes, smile loose and reluctant. "Is that a soft punk look you're goin' for? Or grunge boy next door? Or hipster anarchist? Or—"
Cas throws a sock at Dean's head.
"Ugh, gross," Dean wrinkles his nose, throwing it back, hard, at the other boy. "The hell's wrong with you? Throwin' dirty, stinky socks at your best friend—"
"It was not stinky—"
"If this is how you treat your friends, I'd hate to be your enemy—"
Cas has stood, shoes on, laces tied, and pushes past Dean, exiting the room.
"Cold shoulder, huh?" Dean grins. "You're so mature, Cas, honestly, it always amazes me—"
"Shuddup," Cas grins, apparently despite himself, picking up his bag from beside the front door. "I'm not giving you shit over what you're wearing, so—"
"And I appreciate it, Cas," Dean chuckles, ruffling his friend's hair and exiting after him. "Seeya, Jimmy," He calls out into the house, Jimmy's reply faint and muffled as Dean closes the door.
"Have fun, boys!"
Dean grins out into the darkness.
"Don't mess up my hair," Castiel sighs, straightening it back out as he jumps down the porch steps, making his way to Dean's car.
"Can't mess up what's already messed, Sunshine," Dean winks over to Castiel as he opens the driver's door, slipping inside. Cas rolls his eyes. It's dark out, the pale moon shining over their heads looking so hollow it seems to embody purity and loneliness themselves.
"Whatever you say, Honeybee."
"Love it when you call me our pet names, Cas—"
"Love it when you shut the hell up, Dean," Castiel returns the shot as quickly as it's fired, and Dean barks out a laugh.
"So mean," He shakes his head. "Dunno if I can cope with it."
"Just drive, baby," Cas replies. Dean snorts and starts up the Impala. "Just drive us away from here!"
"You can't make me laugh when I'm driving, Cas, it's a dick move," Dean chuckles.
Cas props his feet up on the dashboard, ruffling at his hair again. Only Cas can get away with having his feet up on Dean's baby like this; mainly because Dean has given up on complaining to him about it—but also very much because Dean hasn't seen anything more beautiful than Cas humming distractedly, slouched in his seat, feet pointing upwards, hair a mess in the evening light.
Dean swallows and flicks his eyes back to the road.
"Noted," Cas hums, then begins to rummage through his bag. "So, you're probably not gonna be drinking much tonight, huh?"
"Not if I'm driving your drunken, sorry ass home, no," Dean smirks. Cas hits him lightly, chuckle warm and low. "But I've got a beer in my bag. The rest are yours."
"Your body could probably do with the break," Castiel muses. Dean glares at him a moment.
"You drink as much as me," He points out. "So don't start."
"Never said I didn't," Castiel points out. "Only that you drink a lot. The two aren't mutually exclusive, you know."
"Mutually exclusive," Dean repeats, grin loose and affectionate. "Now, there's the kind of language a future Cambridge student should be using."
Castiel laughs and shakes his head.
"I'm going to miss all your jokes, when I go," He sighs wistfully.
Sadness curls around Dean's heart.
"Nah," He replies, swallowing back his melancholy and keeping his eyes trained on the road. "You'll be way too busy. Way too busy learning, and way too busy havin' the time of your life."
Cas's laugh is rough and tender.
"Well. I've been very lucky to have you as a friend."
"Yeah, you kind of have," Dean winks. Cas pushes him again.
"So, music is still your plan, huh?" Cas asks. Dean makes a noise of confirmation. "Then why are your tastes so shitty?" He laughs, rolling his eyes as Deep Purple's Smoke on the Water comes on.
"You think my taste in music is shitty?"
"I've said it time and time again."
"I don't know why I'm friends with you," Dean jokes, tone severe. "Also: you're one to talk. You like absolute crap—"
Cas pulls out a mixtape and sticks it into Dean's baby.
"Cas, how many times—driver picks the music—"
"Driver drives, Dean," Cas corrects.
"I could kick you out."
"You wouldn't ever."
Dean sighs and grins.
"Guess not," He admits. "What is this?" He frowns at the stereo.
"Mazzy Star."
"Mazzy what?" Dean frowns.
"Mazzy Star," Cas repeats, then glances over at Dean. "Oh, don't pull that face," He rolls his eyes.
"What face?" Dean grins, feigning innocence. Cas squints accusingly in response. "And what's this song even called?" Dean asks.
"Be My Angel."
"I hope I'm not the only one in this vehicle who recognises how corny that is—"
"Hey, Dean?" Cas interrupts.
"Yeah?"
"Fuck you."
Dean barks out a laugh.
"You're in a pissy mood, Cas," He comments. "Bad day?"
"Since you turned up, yeah," Cas replies, expression sombre, tone matter-of-fact. He peers earnestly at Dean, who glances at him, smirking, before a smile flickers across the blue-eyed boy's features.
"You can't even stay mad at me," Dean beams.
"I guess it's been conditioned out of me, after my many years of putting up with your shit."
"Fuck you."
"You love me."
"Fuck you," Dean laughs, instead of confessing the truth of Cas's words.
'They say it's you/ That washes the way/ And brings the night/ Into the day,' A doleful, both disenchanted and perfectly enchanting voice bleeds out of the car's speakers. Dean swallows
"What did you get up to, today?" Cas asks, leaning back on his seat and crossing his legs from where they rest, still on top of the dashboard.
"What'd you say this song was called?" Dean asks.
"Be My Angel," Castiel answers again. "And don't laugh. What did you do today?" He asks for a second time.
'Don't leave me lonely/ Don't leave me unhappy/ Just bring me up/ Into your faith'
"Ah, not much," Dean shrugs. Somehow this song, and the darkness surrounding them, and the warmth of the car, and Cas's beautiful eyes trained on Dean's face, are making it remarkably difficult to concentrate. "Mainly just… Y'know, practicing music. Playing guitar. Trumpet. Drums. Piano. Bass. Percussion, when mom asked me to. The usual. What about you?"
'Just be my angel if you love me/ Be my angel in the night/ Be my angel 'cause you need me/ Be my angel and treat me right'
Normally, Dean hates Cas's music. But this song is hurting his heart in a new and beautiful and agonizing way.
"Went to temple. Read, a lot. Did you know that Yeats wrote a poem about the pet cat of the woman he loved?—"
"Cas, I thought the whole point of Saturdays was that you didn't work?"
"It's not work, Dean, I love it," Castiel frowns. "Shabbat means rest, peace—to me, there's nothing more restful than reading—"
'Holding on to you/ Holding on to me/ Holding on tight/ 'Till my love is crossed'
"That makes sense," Dean's lips twitch upwards. "English Lit, and all."
'Don't say it's useless/ And don't say forget it/ You are my spirit/ Now you are gone'
"God," Dean grits his teeth, "this song is depressing."
Cas flicks his eyes over to Dean, annoyance dancing behind them.
"I like it," He frowns.
"Yeah? Well, I never said you didn't. What's next?"
"Nick Drake."
"Fuck, you didn't hold back on the melancholy when making this, did you?"
"No, I didn't," Castiel shakes his head. "Melancholy is necessary."
"Oh yeah? Why's that?"
"It's an expression," Castiel replies as though this ought to be obvious, "of human emotion. Therefore, it's necessary. And honest. And honest art ought to feature it."
"Flawed logic, Cas."
"No it's not, you're just nit-picking."
"Saturday Sun?" Dean asks, gesturing to the car stereo. Cas's lips catch upwards into a small smile.
"Yeah," He confirms.
"I like this one," Dean states. "It's so chilled, you know?"
"I know," Castiel confirms, obviously suppressing a beam.
"You look pretty happy that you've gained my approval there, y'know," Dean grins. Castiel swats at Dean.
"You know me, Dean. Always searching for your approval."
"I do know you," Dean agrees. "Pretty damn well, all said and done."
"I'll count myself lucky, I guess?"
"You should. It's not usual that I let people in."
"You're a psychiatrist's dream, Winchester," Castiel deadpans.
"Oh you think so, Novak?" Dean chuckles, raising his eyebrows at the other boy. "And I guess you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"
"Seeing as my dad is a psych—"
"Your dad isn't like any shrink I've ever met, and you know it."
"True, but—"
"I haven't had to meet a whole lot of therapists," Dean finishes Cas's sentence for him, chuckling.
"Am I really that predictable?"
"You have no idea."
"D'you know who else is gonna be there, tonight?"
"Uh," Dean frowns thoughtfully at the road. "Not really, no. Ash and Garth—"
"Obviously."
"Tamara, Isaac—"
"You think they're finally gonna start dating?"
"I think that would involve to much head-pulling-out-of-asses, honestly."
Cas bursts out laughing.
"Yeah, I suppose you're right," He chuckles. "They'd make a nice couple, though…"
"Uh, I don't know what you mean by 'nice'. Unstoppable, maybe. Terrifying, definitely—"
Cas snorts and shakes his head, grinning as he stares out the passenger window.
"Dorothy? Will she be there?" He asks.
"What do you think?"
"I think Charlie's in love with her, she just can't admit it."
"Can't admit it to Dorothy. I've heard her say it plenty of times."
Castiel chuckles and ruffles at his hair again, glancing at it in the wing mirror.
"You look great, buddy," Dean rolls his eyes. "Leave it alone. Who're you trying to impress, anyway?"
Cas glares and shrinks back down into his seat, nose wrinkling.
"No one."
"Cas, I've known you for fourteen years, near enough," Dean smirks. "I can tell when you're lying. So who is it? Hannah? Meg?"
"Neither of them," Cas's pout grows, he shrinks a little more. Dean frowns over to him.
"What're you thinkin' 'bout, Sunshine?"
Cas swallows, frowning and staring ahead of them.
"When I go to England, you have to call every day."
Dean laughs, heart filling with sadness, lungs swelling with water. Lights beat past the Impala as she drives smoothly, relentlessly, down winding roads.
"D'you know how much that's gonna cost, Cas? No way am I gonna call you every day—you'll have to call me, sometimes—"
"Fine, write, email, then," Cas glares. "Just, promise me you will."
Dean peers at Castiel.
"I will," He promises.
Cas stares back at him and lifts his pinky finger to Dean.
"Pinky swear."
The blue eyes are, undeniably, one-hundred percent serious, right now. And despite everything, despite how he knows it's gonna piss Cas off, despite how much he hurts and it hurts to do it whilst denying the pain in Dean's heart, Dean laughs.
"Pinky swear," He promises, and wraps his little finger around Cas's and squeezes, before turning back to the road.
"Thank you," Castiel replies. Dean feigns a smile.
"No problem, Cas."
A new song comes on.
"Okay," Dean sighs. "The hell is this?"
"Kimya Dawson."
"You're a hipster. And a nerd. You know that, right?"
"I do," Cas hums, "I just have no problem admitting it. You can't admit that you only like the greatest hits of mullet-rock."
Dean bursts out laughing again, the noise bubbling up from his lips.
"Sometimes I wonder, Cas," He chuckles, the sound rounded and sunny, "do you mean to be funny? 'Cause you're hilarious, don't get me wrong, but sometimes it seems so unintentional—"
"Hey, Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Fuck you."
Dean can't stop his laughter.
'You're so nice and you're so smart/ You're such a good friend I have'ta break your heart/ Tell you that I love you then I'll tear your world apart/ Just pretend I didn't tear your world apart'
"All your songs have really sad lyrics," He frowns, laughter dimming as he listens to Cas's music. "Why're you picking such depressing shit?"
"I could roast you for your music taste—"
"You already do—"
Castiel hits Dean.
"Cas!" Dean exclaims, feigning shock and anger. "You can't hit the driver! We could die!"
Cas nearly giggles.
"It wasn't hard."
"Doesn't matter. A hit is a hit."
"There's a word for people like you, Dean," Cas smirks.
"Oh, yeah?" Dean raises his eyebrows playfully. "Hot? Awesome? Pure sex?"
"Pure sex is two words, you know."
"I already know you're clever, Cas, you can stop showin' off about it."
Castiel smiles reluctantly.
"You're funny too, you know."
"Aw, thanks," Dean smirks, the expression lopsided.
"The Kinks and Velvet Underground are on this mixtape too, y'know," He states. "Take that as a peace offering."
"Hmm," Dean hums thoughtfully. "I feel as though you only put them on to guarantee a ride home, too. Am I right?"
"Is the sky blue?"
Dean barks out a laugh.
"Wit sharp enough to cut with, Cas."
"You flatter me."
"Just tryin' to butter you up," Dean grins, pulling in by Charlie's house, lights from inside flooding her front yard, music bleeding out from open windows. "Looks pretty good from out here," He nods to the commotion. Castiel glances to it and twitches a sly smile.
"I suppose there's only one way to find out for sure," He opens his door and swings his feet out the car. "You coming?"
"Yep," Dean confirms, killing the engine and getting out after Cas.
Charlie opens the door before they even reach it.
"Guys!" She beams. "You made it!"
"Heya, Charlie," Dean accepts the hug she pulls him in for without too much fuss, rolling his eyes as he does so. "You doin' okay?"
"Yeah," She beams. "Dorothy's here," Her already excited eyes glitter as she says this, and Dean cracks out a rough-edged chuckle, ruffling her hair.
"You might finally get up the guts to have a proper conversation with her!" He side-steps her and enters the house, Charlie huffing at him.
"I talk to her loads. Just because I don't contemplate the universe with her like you and Castiel—"
Cas hugs Charlie in greeting, stifling the rest of her sentence as Dean hides his blush.
"Well, then," Cas smiles good-naturedly. "Tonight might be the night? As in, the night?"
"I sure hope so," Charlie beams. Dean snorts and hits her lightly.
"Dork."
"Dick," She hits him back. "You guys want a drink?"
Music is thrumming from her kitchen and living-room.
"Nah, we're good," Dean holds up his bag.
"Okay, cool," Charlie leads them both through to her living room, as if they don't know where it is. The party, already in full swing, has made Charlie's house seem less like a home and more like a club. "Lisa's said she wants to hook up with you, by the way," Charlie says, leaning in close to speak the words into Dean's ear as they peer into the room from the doorframe. Dean frowns, eyes flitting round the gathering before returning to Charlie's face.
She peers at him as though attempting to gauge his reaction.
"Or would you prefer Aaron?" She raises her eyebrows at him. "He literally told me he has the biggest crush on you, you know."
Dean is taken aback, and it probably shows.
He blinks, glancing, totally unintentionally over to Cas, who only peers at him with a soft frown. Dean nearly chokes, and has to cough.
Well, shit. Aaron? Aaron's pretty cute, all said and done, Dean thinks to himself; big brown eyes and cute, fumblingly awkward mannerisms that Dean has often taken the time to admire, but… He's no Cas. And Dean only has eyes for Cas, where guys were concerned.
Okay, so maybe that isn't quite true; maybe Dean likes to graze his eyes over the muscled, slim torsos of his teammates after football practice, maybe he admires Dr Sexy M.D. a little too much, maybe he sometimes, sometimes will watch two men fucking each other instead of simple, straight male-female pornos, or two girls getting each other off… But that's just it, isn't it? Dean had discovered, long ago, and much to his own horror and shame, that gender isn't that much of a factor in him getting his dick up.
He swings both ways, and keeps on swinging, sometimes back and forth, sometimes liking both simultaneously sometimes one exclusively—which has led to numb, elated moments of 'maybe I'm cured?', and equally horrified, numb moments of 'am I completely gay, now?!', but Cas is different. With Cas, it's constant, never changing; and it isn't just those damn sexy eyes and pink lips and deep voice, growing deeper by the day that make Dean's knees weak.
So, as if having a crush on his best friend isn't bad enough, Dean finds himself in love with Cas—and if that wasn't already the epitome of all that was cruddy and awkward and cliche about being a teenager, Cas is religious. Devout. So he'd hate Dean if he knew anything about Dean's pendulum of a sexuality that doesn't seem to give a shit about what's in between a person's legs. Because that's what religious people do, isn't it? Hate the queer?
It's what John did.
Cas is still frowning.
God, that look of disapproval is way too familiar; Dean saw it on his dad's face more than enough when he was alive, saw it on the face of the priest John took him to, saw it on his own face as he looked in the mirror after a shower in which he'd scrubbed his skin raw and tried to purge himself of sinful desires.
So, despite proudly proclaiming that he can and does tell Cas anything, everything, Dean keeps this aspect of his personality; his sexuality, hidden.
"Ah," He laughs, shaking his head and realising that he's probably taken way too long in answering to Charlie's suggestion. "Sorry, Charlie, but I can't really say he's my type," He cocks a lopsided grin, regaining his cool. "Hate to shoot that one down."
"Not your type, huh?" Charlie raises her eyebrows, unconvinced. "What d'you mean by that?"
Dean's gaze flickers back over to Castiel, who is looking down, jaw clenched.
Well, damn. Maybe Cas really hates gay people.
"Think you know what I mean," Dean rolls his eyes, face burning. "Lisa, though? She's hot. And I knew she had a thing for me—"
"God, Dean," Charlie hits Dean on the arm, sighing and shaking her head. "Do you have to be such a guy?!"
"Well, I am a guy, so—"
Charlie swats at Dean again and exits at the calling of her name, probably from someone in the kitchen.
Dean glances over to Castiel, who looks, for whatever reason, hurt.
"You alright, buddy?" Dean asks. Cas glances up at him, blinks for a few moments, and nods. The look couldn't be more unconvincing. But Dean decides not to press.
"Can I get a beer?" He asks, gesturing to Dean's bag.
"'Course," Dean nods distractedly, fumbling before pulling out Cas's share of the beer they've brought, and handing it to him.
"Thanks," Cas looks away. "Think I'm gonna check up on Bela. She didn't seem great at school yesterday, so."
Dean nods in understanding.
Bela doesn't talk about it much, but Dean recognises a look in her eyes that he saw in his own every morning in the mirror after John realised, before Dean did, that Dean was very much queer and very much besotted with his best friend from across the road.
Dean knows what neglect looks like; knows what self-loathing looks like; knows what fear looks like. He sees all three, and more, in Bela's eyes.
"Right…" He nods, distant. "Well, see you. Tell her I say hi."
Because she'd probably hit Dean, and not in the playful way Charlie does, if he were to imply in any way that she might be hurting or vulnerable.
"Yeah," Castiel glances back at Dean and forces a closed-lipped smile. Something has changed in the air between them.
It's bitter and unfamiliar and Dean frowns at its presence, even after Cas has wandered off.
He turns back to the room and sighs, slumping down onto one of Charlie's couches, shoving at Meg to get her to move up.
"What's the word, hummingbird?"
Meg's long dark hair tumbles down way past her shoulders in loose, shining waves. Her dark brown eyes glitter with amusement. Her pale skin shines in the light of the room.
Dean groans and shakes his head, opening his beer.
"Shit. Everything's shit, is the word."
Meg snorts.
"Geez, I'm sorry I asked."
"You know Cas is moving to England, right?"
"He might've mentioned it to me yesterday," Meg shrugs, eyeing Dean cautiously.
"Well," Dean sighs. "That's why everything's gone to shit."
Meg snorts.
"You're so melodramatic, Deanie. Drink, you'll feel better."
"I'm driving," Dean rolls his eyes. "One beer is my limit, so I'm gonna make this last."
"Melodramatic and responsible," Meg sniggers. "The worst combination."
"Glad you think so," Dean huffs and sips his drink.
"If you care so much, why don't you tell him not to go?"
"You think I'm that much of an asshole? Really? To make Cas give up on his dream like that? To ask him to? As if he would, anyway. Nothing means as much to him as his dream, and I'd be some next-level dick to ask him to consider staying, especially just 'cause I'll miss him…"
Meg raises her hands in surrender.
"Fuck me, Winchester, it was just a suggestion."
Dean makes a 'humph' noise and settles down into his seat on the couch. He looks about the room.
"So Lisa's giving you a total I want you to fuck me hard and fast eye, right now," Meg smirks.
Dean shoves her.
"Gross," He wrinkles his nose. "Don't say that."
"Any other day you'd be laughing along, too," Meg points out. "And making some arrogant comment about how it's no surprise, 'cause you're basically sex on legs, or however the hell it is you describe yourself."
"Well, today isn't like other days."
Dean glances over to Lisa, who, Meg being totally correct in her analysis of the situation, is eyeing Dean with something smouldering hot and somehow simultaneously girl-next-door pretty and innocent in her big dark doe-eyes.
"Why?" Meg asks, her voice coiled with something next to mirth, though more familiar and less unkind than a purely mocking tone. "'Cause your boyfriend is moving away?"
Dean's eyes rip away from Lisa's and turn to the floor as his face burns.
"Cas is not my boyfriend," He just about growls out. "So shuddup."
Meg snorts again.
"Whatever you say, Winchester. Whatever you say."
"You're the one that flirts with him all the time," Dean points out, voice strangely accusing. Meg bursts out into clumsy, slightly drunken giggles.
"Yeah, true," Meg suppresses a grin. "But he was your boyfriend first."
"And what, he was yours second?"
"Yeah, pretty much," Meg chuckles, lifting her knees to her chest and hugging them. "Yours first, mine second—"
"Sloppy seconds—" Dean smirks, at last cheering up.
"Sloppy seconds," Meg repeats good-naturedly, "and hey, look!" She points to a place behind Dean's head. "Samandriel's third!"
"What?" Dean frowns, turning.
Then he sputters and chokes like a tired engine.
His blood freezes, his heart stops.
Cas.
Cas. Castiel kissing, kissing, Samandriel. Samandriel, a boy, who isn't Dean. Also a boy.
A boy.
Cas is gay? Or—Cas likes guys?—but he's never hit on Dean—what's wrong with Dean?
His heart is breaking, crumbling up into tiny little pieces of nothing.
Cas, sat on an armchair with lithe, pretty-faced Samandriel straddling his lap, their lips meshed together, eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering, hands roaming down back and neck and chest and ass, and God, Dean is going to be sick.
He rips his gaze away, body threatening to convulse, tears burning at his eyes, and draws his legs up to his chest, Meg's hollow voice echoing distantly in his head.
"Dean? Geez, I never knew you had a problem with it—are you a homophobe, Dean?"
"I'm not a homophobe," Dean's lips curl, he blinks, hard. Cas is gay? Or bi? But likes men, at least, and doesn't like Dean. What's wrong with Dean?
At least Dean's affections being unrequited before this was something he could deal with; he'd thought Cas was straight, thought that resolved at least some of the sadness of not being loved back, because there was a peace in knowing that Dean never had a chance anyway, he was a dude, there was nothing he could do to earn Cas's love like that—but now he knows he was wrong.
Cas does like guys, he just doesn't like Dean.
Which means Dean must've fucked up in some way; not said enough, not been enough… Maybe Cas thinks he's ugly? Annoying? Too needy? Too stupid for Cas's brilliant and discerning mind?
He rubs at his eyes ferociously.
Meg's gaze turns unbelieving.
"Wait, shit," She says, deliberating over the words like they have within them the secret to life itself. "You actually do like Cas?! I was joking when I said he was your boyfriend, but you actually like him?! As in—you have a crush on him? You like like him? You love him?!"
Dean pushes Meg away.
"Fuck, no," He spits. His lip curls again. "I'm not gay. And I'm not a homophobe either," He glares at Meg, standing.
"Then why're you reacting like this?" She gestures to him, but Dean has stormed out of the room and makes his way up the stairs, head pounding. The world throbs in his ears.
He opens the door to Charlie's room, familiar with all its movie posters and little, dorky, Harry Potter figurines lined up on her already-crammed bookcase, and her superhero bedsheets and her complete Tolkien collection.
Dean thanks fuck that here, at least, is empty.
He sits on the floor and curls his legs up to hug at his knees.
Well, fuck this.
He can hear the music from downstairs. He wonders where Charlie's parents are, how she got them to OK this party. Inexplicably, he wishes the cops would show up and shut it down so he could just go home.
Cas. Castiel Novak. Gay. Or bi? Neither?
But Cas liking men, being religious—somehow balancing the two; how the hell were you supposed to do that?—and not liking Dean back. Not loving Dean back.
What a pile of awful tonight was turning out to be.
The door opens tentatively.
Dean expects Meg, coming to check up on him or berate him for being so rude to her earlier; or Charlie, ready to ask Dean how he's doing after seeing him storm out of the party downstairs quite so dramatically—he doesn't expect to see Lisa; doe-eyed, dark haired Lisa and her tan skin and pretty dark pink lips.
Dean licks his own.
"Hey," He just about manages to rasp out.
Lisa's mouth twitches upwards.
"Hey," She returns, coming to sit on the floor space next to him. "Thought I saw you coming up here."
"Well, you thought right."
She giggles nervously.
"How're you?" She asks.
Dean shrugs, unable to look at her.
Her skin shines golden-bronze in the light of the room like she's some kind of apparition, which, Dean thinks to himself, she might just be.
Long dark hair tumbles onto syrup-coloured shoulders.
"You look nice, tonight," He comments. Her tanned skin darkens with a pretty blush.
"Thank you," Her beam comes out slowly, like the dawn, but once she's smiling, she's positively radiant. "You look nice, too."
Dean snorts, mouth twitching upwards.
If only Cas thought so.
But fuck Cas. Fuck Cas for not liking Dean back, fuck Cas for making out with Samandriel right in front of Dean, fuck Cas for his pretty blue eyes and elegant features and messy hair and muscled frame, fuck Cas for his deep, rough voice and his pale lips and the things that come out of them, the witty, awkward, endearing things that have Dean beaming or smirking or doubled over in laughter. Fuck Cas.
Fuck Cas for not caring about Dean the way Dean cares about him. Fuck Cas.
This is the thought that spurs him into kissing Lisa. Which is ironic, all things considered.
...
So, another piece of the puzzle! Next chapter will hopefully be around 3,000 words, and then by chapter 10 the updates will be bulking out in length (I hope!)
Again, sorry about TCY - it ought to be up very soon, though I'm not quite sure when.
Some good news, however - I got into two of my favourite universities! (So while I still have my interview for my other favourite coming up, I can like, take a deep relaxing breath out and rest easy in the knowledge that a) I'm going to university! and b) I'm going to a university that I LOVE! to study a subject I love! Good news all round.)
Thanks for reading, and to everyone who's been commenting so far! You're all wonderful, I hope you enjoyed!
