A/N: This is shorter chapter, sorry guys, but, my show is this week, so I'm not sure how much I'll be updating... however, I will when I can. But, once this week is done, I'm home free. :) I also wanted to let you know that if you've been reading this story for a while, I updated the first chapter and it's TONS better. You should go check it out. Nothing plotwise changed, but structure wise, whole new story. :) Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed and favorited, you guys are my inspiration and the reason I've stuck with this (aside from the fact that I've had this damn story rattling in my head for years). But, yes, I'm eternally grateful for all of you. :) Let me know what you think of this chapter.
"So then, I asked this chick to prom, okay? Her name was Sara. Sara Blake. And she was so fine." Dean had one arm wrapped around Cas's shoulders and the other miming her physical fineness. "She had black hair and brown eyes and she was smoking. I mean, Cas she coulda turned you on." Cas chuckled and nuzzled his head onto Dean's shoulder more. "But, anyways, I asked her, and she turned me down."
"Ouch," Cas muttered sarcastically.
"No no, I wouldn't have cared much, I mean, girls were a dime a dozen. But, this girl, this Sara, she turned me down for Sam. Now, honestly, who would pick Sam over me?" He looked at Cas and raised his eyebrows. "You sure as hell wouldn't."
"Maybe. He's got…" Cas took a breath, talking and breathing at the same time was still something they were working on in PT. "Bigger hands."
"Oh shut up you pervert. My hands are plenty big, and you know what else is-"
"Knock, knock!" A trill voice came from the door. The boys fell silent, a smile etched onto both of their faces. Jess walked into the room with a pile of clothes for each of them. "Dean, since you're sort of stuck here, we thought you should just wear the scrubs too. It'll be easier for everyone." She flashed a smile at both of them and set the piles on the bed. "I'm going to assume you two can handle each other for a little while, I have other patients who don't have extra hands." She winked at them and waltzed out of the room. A second later and her head popped back in the doorway, "Oh, and Dean, Sam says hi."
"Nice of him to drop by," Dean muttered as he rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Jess."
"She's nice," Cas smiled as he said the words. Dean nodded.
"Yeah, I don't know, she's not my type. She's too… much."
Cas nodded. "I know."
Then they fell into silence. This silence was more tangible than any before. Major implications had been laid on the bed for them by Dean's brother's girlfriend. They both knew what she was asking. They both recognized the subtext it implied. They both knew it'd be weird.
Dean nodded sharply. "So, do you put on the left leg first or the right?" He leaned forward and picked up the pants for Cas.
"Shirts," Cas said sternly. Or as sternly as a recovering coma patient can manage. It was a soft word with only light air surrounding it, not the command of sternness or the fluttering breeze of laughter. It was just free.
"Fine, okay, don't get in a huff about it," Dean humored him. "Shirts first... At least I'm getting to second base today." His face lit up with a smirk and a wink.
Cas rolled his eyes.
Dean grabbed the end of Cas's shirt and tugged it up over his head. He was expecting something grandiose to happen within him, a sudden immediate arousal, a quick longing, a wonder of what his shoulders would feel like under his hands. But, nothing like that came to mind.
The first comment off Dean's tongue was, "You have a tattoo?" A brilliant quip of wit that Dean Winchester very cleverly offered.
Cas nodded.
On Cas's chest, starting on the right, there was a feather, black and blue like his eyes and hair. It was as if they had spilled onto his chest and inked their colors into his skin. Halfway up the feather, the edge began to fall off, and each barb that fell, became a bird that was flying across his chest. Some blue like his eyes, some black like his hair.
Dean reached forward with his hand, and traced the outline of the feather, feeling the small jolt of touching Cas like a minor run in with an electrical outlet. He lightly let his finger drag across the skin, feeling the inked area, and following the path of the birds.
"This is awesome, man."
"Thanks."
"What's it for?"
Cas shrugged. "I wanted… to get out…" His breaths were slowly seeming to fit more between words instead of forcing his words between breaths. "I wanted… to fly…"
"Nah, man, heights really aren't my thing. I'd rather stay down here on Earth with your crazy ass." Dean smiled, his finger still running across his chest, the birds seeming to lead him.
"I love… heights… I love going… fast…"
"Hence, the motorcycle."
"Yeah… where is it?" Cas looked at Dean with suddenly panicked eyes. His breath caught in his chest and Dean could feel the labored rises and falls shudder to a halt under his fingertip.
Dean met Cas's eye, "Your bike?"
Cas nodded, his eyes colored with fear moreso than blue.
"It's alright, man, breathe. I have it." The air fell out of his mouth like water burst through a dam. "I was going to surprise you, have it ready when you woke up, and offer it to you as a peace treaty."
"You fixed it?" Cas asked, the fear melting into wonder. His face seemed to glisten, stars of appreciation spilling out of his pores and beading on the radiant glow of perfect contentment that lit his face.
Dean shrugged. "It was pretty messed up, dude. I really considered throwing it out and just building you a new one from scratch, but, I figured it had some sort of sentimental value or something and that's why you were still riding a rust bucket around. But, now that I've gotten my hands on her, oooh, she's a babe. She's got a sleek paint job, a nice cleaned up engine, brand new piping. She's a fucking hot ride."
Cas stared at Dean, awe and adoration and happiness clear on his face.
"Okay, okay, enough with the googly eyes. Chill, man." Dean chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, pulling his hand away from Cas's chest. "Here, let's get your shirt on, then we can watch Die Hard. Sound good?"
Dean lifted Cas's arms to help him get into the shirt, and as they fell back down, pulled down by gravity and the weight of bone, Cas wrapped them around Dean, pulling on him just enough for Dean to lean into the hug. Dean slowly put his arm around Cas as well, patting his shoulder.
"Dean… thank you…. So much…" Cas's words were hardly a whisper, soaked with tears and emotions that didn't overflow. He knotted his hand in Dean's hair, clutching him with impressive force that was gaining strength with the extra contact of cheek to cheek and arms on neck.
"Yeah, man, it was the least I could do, trust me. It was no big deal. Promise."
But, regardless of how much of a "no big deal" it was, the two sat there, wrapped around each other for a long while, soft whispers of gratitude and gentle chuckles replacing the action-packed music score and russian accents of Die Hard for a short while at least.
