Tipping the Hourglass

Chapter 9: Alone

"You know Castiel," his mother sounded scolding, "I'd like to see you at some point. You are my son after all." She was very displeased, Cas forcefully shoving Dean back with his elbow as he held his cell to his ear. "I know it's important that you visit with your friends, but I feel like I've hardly seen you since you got here."

"Yes, you're right," Dean had wrapped his arms around Cas's bare middle, his lips attacking his shoulder, and Cas tried to wriggle away. Only half-heartedly however. "I'll be home today, I promise."

"Good," his mother sounded satisfied. "You know, it's okay for you to hang out with your friends at home too. I'd like to see all of you, if that's of any consequence." Dean was running his tongue up Cas's neck and it took all that was in his power not to moan into the phone.

"Yes Mother," his voice was tight. "I'll make sure to bring everyone over."

"And bring Dean Winchester too," she added. "He's such a nice boy. I want to get to know him better."

"Of course," Cas tried to lean away from those lips, but he could do very little about the hand reaching down between his legs. "I'll… definitely invite him over."

"Oh good," Naomi huffed, sounding far too upbeat for six in the morning. Cas wanted to end the conversation there, but before he could, his mother spoke again. "Where are you now?" she questioned. "Are you at Dean's place again?"

How perceptive of her. "Yes," Cas ground out, teeth gritted. He didn't want to lie if he could help it after all. "That's where I, we, all are." Because his friends were supposed to be with him. Which would actually be quite uncomfortable considering the way Dean was currently stroking him.

"Oh. What are you doing?" Really? She was going to ask that?

"Just… stuff," Cas's brain was far too distracted to come up with a real excuse, or a fake one rather. "Guy stuff, you know." Again, honesty was best. "Actually," he tried to take advantage of the opportunity. "I really should go. Dean… needs me for something."

"Oh alright," his mother agreed to his farewell with a rather chipper voice. "I'll see you later then honey."

"Right, goodbye Mother," he tried to take the phone from his ear.

"Oh Castiel!"

"What?!" he hadn't meant to sound so sharp, but apparently she hadn't minded.

"I love you honey."

"Love you too Mother," he added quickly and yanked the phone from his ear before hanging up. Tossing it over the side of the bed, he then sank into Dean's chest, eyes closing as he leaned the back of his head onto that broad shoulder. Despite how irritating Dean's instigations had been, he'd easily been able to forgive him, what with the heavy petting going on.

"Should we stop?" Dean whispered breathy words into his ear. "Sounds like Naomi might want to see you a little more." He was grinning, Cas could hear it.

"Don't bring my mother into this," Cas muttered, breathing deeply as Dean slowed in his stroking. "I am slightly offended however." Dean stopped fully then, seeming to hint at his questioning look despite the fact that Cas couldn't see him. "You're desire to have me here is less than my mother's? That makes me feel most unwanted."

"It shouldn't," Dean replied, his hands dropping fully from between those legs as Cas turned to face him. "Your mother is quite attached to you, or so I've noticed." Cas had run his hands up Dean's sides, his fingers taking in that sinewy skin and muscle.

"I'm still offended," Cas decided, their bare chests bumping as Dean wrapped his arms around Cas's neck. Foreheads coming together, they stared eye-to-eye, intent. "You should want me ten times more. If not, I must be doing something wrong."

"You're not doing anything wrong," Dean assured with a lopsided grin. "Trust me."

"I can't," Cas shrugged simply, his hands having migrated forward, those muscled pecks beneath his palms. "I, apparently, can do better."

"Oh yeah?" they were both grinning, lost in each other as Cas slowly laid Dean back on the bed. "Prove it."

"I have every intention of doing so," Cas assured, his lips finding Dean's neck as they fell softly back into the sheets. Early morning moonlight streamed in through the window, casting it's silver glow across the bed, and Dean closed his eyes to it, relishing in the way those lips, and that tongue, maneuvered their way down his chest. The work was done quickly, both of them fully mindful of where this was going.

Lower, that was.

And as Dean felt that hot breath between his legs, he steadied his breathing, if only in preparation, and ignored the grating ringtone abruptly assaulting his ears. Cas ignored it too, reminding himself that he needed to put his phone on vibrate, as Dean's was.

The ringing was only a slight distraction, Dean's hips thrusting upward as those lips closed around him. His skin dragged across the already sweaty, sticky sheets, which he'd have to wash whenever they were finally done. Until then, he didn't see the point. They'd been going at it all night, acquiring an hour of sleep or so every once in a while. Truly, he didn't want the day to come. So long as the moon was hovering outside, the rest of the world could call, but that was all. They were completely within their social rights to remain exactly where they were.

The ringing ended, Dean's voice echoing of an involuntary moan he didn't allow to escape his lips. Instead, it thrummed his throat, Cas mimicking the noise and allowing it to vibrate outwards, which pulled a small smile of pleasure across Dean's lips. He kept his eyes closed however, allowing his body to diminish to only where Cas was, all his other senses numbed.

Which was why he was easily able to ignore it, again, when Cas's phone started up once more.

That mouth never faltered on him, selective hearing apparently a gift they both shared. Reaching up, Dean allowed his sparking, only somewhat capable of feeling fingers to find that disheveled dark hair. Holding tight, his breath came a little faster as he met Cas's motions with his hips. Glided them deftly in rhythm with the steps Cas had established. A dance they'd already performed three times that night, though that was a waltz Dean had quickly learned to lead.

He wasn't going to be totally submissive after all.

The phone died again.

That warm tongue slipped up and down, Dean abruptly aware of the way the sheets rubbed, scraped, against his sensitive skin with every movement he made. It sent shocks across and around, building at his base as his fist relaxed and tensed with the tempo, the texture of Cas's hair that much more endearing. Smooth, conditioned, and the idea of such pulled another moan from his lips, though this time his lips couldn't keep it held at bay.

The phone rang. Again.

Cas's movements finally faltered, knocked slightly off-course, and Dean's moan became a pathetic whimper he couldn't control. His fist clenched tighter to Cas's hair, willing him to stay right where he was.

They were hardly over halfway.

But those lips eventually left him open to the chilled air, no amount of desire keeping Cas where he should have been.

"That's three times now," Cas turned to look where he'd tossed his phone, Dean collapsing, defeated and abruptly annoyed, onto the mattress. Which now felt more itchy than anything else.

He frowned.

Sliding off the bed, Cas crouched down and swiped his phone from the floor before bending back up onto the mattress. Sitting on the edge, he glanced down at the ringing contraption to see that it was Anna calling him. Eyebrows furrowed, he punched the answer button before holding it to his ear.

"Hello?" he questioned, Dean growling behind him.

"About damn time you picked up," she started in on him. "I figured you'd have to if I called enough times. Can't ignore me forever." Cas's shoulders dropped, Dean sitting up behind him and placing his chin on his shoulder. He was eavesdropping.

"Is there a problem?" Cas inquired.

"Yes, there's a problem!" She snapped. "While you and your new boy-toy have been having sex, and then make-up sex I assume," since she'd heard nothing out of her friend, "I've been sleeping on Chuck's couch!" Cas's lips tightened. "He gets up at six, did you know that? Has to work. So now I'm up. And I figured that, since my sleep got interrupted, I'd call you up and interrupt whatever it was you were doing." There was spite dripping from her words.

"You were successful," Cas replied dryly, deciding not to elaborate.

"Good," Anna replied smartly. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd appreciate if you'd climb on down from atop Dean Winchester," as if he were a tree or something, "and come in that fancy car of his to pick me and Balthazar up. We'd like to change our clothes seeing as we haven't been back to your house in a day and a half. What with you sleeping with Dean and then freaking out about it."

Every muscle in Cas's face tightened, but he couldn't fight her. She was right after all.

"You're just jealous!" Dean shouted into the phone. "Which I can't blame you for."

"Fuck you Dean Winchester!" she spat.

"Sorry, but I'm taken at the mome-"

Hand flat against Dean's face, Cas shoved him back onto the bed. He collapsed with a grunt.

"We'll be there soon," Cas assured.

"Yeah, I thought so," Anna stated before the line died, Cas not really all that concerned over her anger. It was justified, really. He had been acting quite inconsiderate as of late. Not that he regretted it, what with Dean being involved and everything.

"I don't want to get up," Dean whined as Cas turned to look down at him. He found the sight of that naked form, which was twisting rebelliously into the sheets, quite pleasing. He smiled.

"We have to," Cas decided with a sigh. "Anna has a point."

"I don't care about Anna," was the childish response.

"Well I do," Cas shrugged and Dean groaned. Leaning over him, hands placed on either side of the other man's head, Cas tried to grant him a comforting smile, one that shone through only in his eyes, but Dean just huffed like the grump Cas remembered he could be.

Leaning down, he kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Your freckles are cute," he muttered before leaning up, green eyes watching him. Scooting to the edge of the bed, he tossed his body into standing before turning back to Dean. The other man was rising as well, though in a slow, cinderblock type fashion.

"That's cuz I'm adorable," Dean pouted, his voice still put off even as he slid to the edge as well.

"It's true," Cas agreed, holding out a hand to the other man, who took it before being yanked into standing. Their fingers remained entwined however, Dean's taller form approaching Cas as if being dragged. "I won't contradict you."

"Good," Dean finally grinned, but only a little. "You would do good to know that I'm always right." Cas cocked a skeptical brow. "Also, you're beautiful." He smiled wider.

Cas rolled his eyes. "Well that's certainly not something I want to disagree with."

"I think I've made my point," Dean shrugged innocently, Cas's lips pursing in disapproval even as Dean tightened his fingers around his own. Cas appreciated the gesture, returning it, but that didn't change any of their new plans. "One of us should get in the shower," he decided, because he'd probably have to be the mature one.

"Or…" Dean raised a knowing finger, "we could both get in the shower." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Shower sex is very difficult," Cas observed with little tact, which only made Dean grin still.

"I didn't take you for the type to shy away from a challenge."

"I'm not," Cas defended quickly. "I was just making sure you understood."

"I understand," Dean assured.

"Well then," Cas started to walk towards the bathroom, tugging Dean by the hand behind him. "Shall we?"

"We shall," Dean verified as they strolled in.

oOo

"Oh, and by the way," Anna was huffing around Chuck's living room, gathering what few things she'd had upon spending the night there, "it's really awkward when Chuck has to go to work and we have to stay here. Just so you know." She tossed her purse violently against the couch where her sweater was lying.

"I said I was sorry," Cas replied stiffly from his position in the plush chair perpendicular to the couch. Dean was wedged in beside him, Cas snuggled up to him while the other man laid his muscular arm around the back of the seat. "It won't happen again." Maybe.

"It will," Dean affirmed without much care, Cas casting him only a slightly disapproving eye. He got a devious grin in return, Anna glaring at them both before huffing and shaking her head, perhaps defeated. "In any case," Dean sighed, looking away from Cas, "I have to get to work."

Cas frowned, leaning the side of his face against the back of the couch and not making any attempts to move, which he'd have to do if the other man was to get up.

"Good!" Anna pointed at him accusingly. "You're a bad influence." Balthazar chuckled, but didn't comment.

"You're just jealous," Dean determined, winking once at Anna before turning back to Cas and, thus, ignoring how she fumed. "Seriously though," he was focused on the man practically sitting in his lap, "Bobby has me scheduled to come in at eight, so I'll probably already be late." Cas had noticed he'd grabbed his work uniform when they'd left.

"When do you get off?" Cas couldn't hide the poutiness sinking his expression as he fingered the collar of Dean's t-shirt. He didn't meet those green eyes watching him, instead preferring to frown.

"Four, maybe, if things are slow," he replied quietly, Anna and Balthazar listening to the exchange silently. They could both tell that what they were witnessing was the infamous, exciting, and often times short-lived beginnings of a relationship. This development, however, didn't make either of them the least bit happy for Cas.

Not after the phone call Anna had gotten earlier that morning…

"You should come over," Cas muttered, still watching his fingers trail Dean's collar, almost childishly. "After you get out. My mother wants me to spend time with her," finally those blue peepers flicked up, Dean's expression far too soft considering. But he'd deny he'd looked so if anyone ever brought it up. "It'll be a lot more tolerable if you're there," he finished quietly and Dean grinned.

"I can probably make that happen," he flirted quietly as he leaned in, his forehead touching Cas's softly as they stared at each other. Anna wasn't sure whether to melt at the sweetness or throw up. It was like they'd completely forgotten she and Balthazar were even there. Again.

"'Probably' isn't a certainty," Cas muttered, though there was a small smile pulling at his lips as well, a slight sliver of his teeth displayed for the room. Which actually managed to take Anna and Balthazar by surprise. Cas didn't smile. Ever. Only when he was really happy did that happen. Like when he finished a piece he'd been working on for ages, or scored a place in a gallery. And even then the expression was fleeting.

It didn't stick like it was now.

"Well, I guess you'll just have to be kept wondering," Dean murmured, almost seductively, before he closed his eyes and leaned forward. Cas was producing a full-blown smile at this point, meeting Dean's lips in response despite how his grin interfered. Not that Dean wasn't smiling too of course.

The sound of their lips meeting echoed around the room for a moment, Anna rolling her eyes as she watched. The contact was short-lived however. Dean severed it, leaning back to look at Cas for a moment longer before huffing. Gently pushing the other man to the side of the chair, he slid out from underneath him and got to his feet.

They stared at each other the whole time.

Even as Dean rounded the chair as if to head for the door, Cas turned in his seat to watch him go. And Dean, who glanced over his shoulder as he walked, slowed upon seeing those intense blue eyes trained on him. He was still within range of Cas's reach and, hand outstretched, he tugged at the bottom of Dean's shirt. As if that should mean something.

Despite how Anna and Balthazar wondered, Dean apparently knew exactly what was being asked of him however. His smile, which had been sharp and bright moments before, appeared once again, though softer. Placing both his hands on the back of the chair, he leaned down and met Cas's lips once again, who was leaning up.

This kiss was different than the few from moments before. Both Anna and Balthazar could see that. When they'd been sitting in the chair before, the kisses they'd shared had been short, flirty. Casual.

But this… It was longer, deeper, both men totally indulged. The world around them was gone, the two of them the only things that mattered in that moment. And the thought of such, of what she saw before her, made Anna's gut wrench, her focus falling to the side where her cell phone was sitting on the couch.

Her shoulders dropped.

Eventually the two pulled away, still blissful as they whispered what Anna could only describe as "sweet nothings" to each one another. Dean then reached up and allowed his hand to sift through Cas's hair until it fell to his cheek. Exchanging one final look, self-control was finally initiated and the two broke apart. Turning away, Dean waved shortly behind him, apparently to the rest of the room, before finding his way to the door.

He left, Cas abandoned to sit backward in the chair and stare after him.

Anna pursed her lips against the silence.

"So you two seem to have gotten… close…" she observed tightly, Balthazar remaining silent despite knowing where the conversation was headed. But it was better that way. Anna was much more adept at controversy than he was.

It was a few seconds before Cas finally turned to answer.

"I suppose," was all he offered, a cliché air of depression overwhelming him as he sat back in his chair. As if he missed Dean already.

"Well, I'm happy for you," she decided, though even Cas could sense the "but" approaching her speech. "And I'm not trying to… ruin your morning or anything, but," there is was, "you should probably know that I got a call from… Michael last night." She paused. "A rather hysterical call actually." She'd gone over to the couch to organize her things.

"He called me too…" Cas observed quietly.

"I know," Anna nodded, finally sitting down and glancing up at Cas fully. "He told me. Actually, he told me that was the eighth time he's called you in the last few days. And that you never called him back. Or texted. Or anything." She didn't want to play the role of patronizing mother here, and, to be honest, Cas was always her friend before Michael, but that didn't change the fact that she'd had to deal with the freaked out boyfriend of her best friend the night before.

"He worries…" was all Cas could come up with, those abruptly heavy blue eyes dropping to the floor.

"Yeah, well, no offense Cas, but he kind of has the right to be," she shrugged somewhat awkwardly. "You haven't been communicating with him, for one, and, for two, you are… sleeping with someone else…" She couldn't bring herself to say cheating, whether it was true or not. Mostly because she knew that Cas never meant to hurt anyone, ever, and that such a word just seemed too… harsh. She knew it was her personal feelings that were leading her to see the situation that way, but she couldn't help it.

"I'm fully aware of the situation Anna," Cas replied shortly, the fact that his transgressions were being brought to the forefront not boding well.

"Yeah, well," Anna crossed her arms over her chest, unappreciative of his attitude. "You're not the one who was consoling him for half an hour because he thought something had happened to you. And then when I made perfectly clear that you were fine, I had to feed him a ton of lies to excuse you. So maybe instead of simply being 'aware' of the situation, you should do something about it."

"What am I supposed to do?" Cas asked shortly. He hadn't wanted to talk about this. At all. It was easier to ignore the problem, which wasn't wise, but was easier. At the moment.

"That is not something I can tell you," Anna replied, honestly not wanting to get involved. Because, the whole cheating thing being only one variable, Cas had dug himself into a pretty deep hole. A pit, even. "But you should probably think it over…"

"Please, be more helpful," Cas stated sarcastically, his mood dropping by the moment.

"Hey," Anna pointed at him accusingly. "You got yourself into this," she tried to remain calm. "You're the one that's cheating," yes, she finally said it, and Cas flinched away. "You're the one ignoring Michael. You're the one sleeping with someone who lives in an entirely different state than you. Does Dean even know about Michael? I wonder how he'd react if he did."

Yes, her irritation was getting the better of her.

"You think I haven't considered any of that?" Cas hissed, angry, which wasn't an emotion either of his friends saw from him very often. "I have, and I don't need you to explain it to me."

"Then what are you going to do?" Anna asked strictly, eyebrows rising questioningly.

And Cas replied, simply, with "None of your business" before abruptly rising to his feet. He turned, as if to head for the door, and Anna's voice made him stop.

"You can't ignore this Cas," she issued shortly. "It won't end well if you do." He picked up his pace once more, finally reaching the door, pulling it open, and exiting.

"Don't say I didn't warn you…" she muttered, annoyed, and Balthazar sighed from the other side of the room. Despite their exasperated expressions however, their words stemmed from concern. Because Cas was their best friend and neither of them wanted to see him hurt.

Or hurt others.

oOo

"You know," Naomi sat back in her seat, presents and wrapping paper spread out before her on the dining table. None of which that were going to anyone in the room. "I don't think I've seen Castiel so… cheerful since…" she furrowed her brows. "Since he was a child, come to think of it."

"He was plenty happy in high school," Samandriel lied, his tone unconvincing to everyone except Naomi, who stared at her son with a frown. Cas was sitting on the other side of the house, atop the windowsill in the living room. He was punching the keys on his phone, presumably texting, with a slight smile on his face. Occasionally it would widen, when he was reading something, before he'd begin to type his reply.

"Hmmm," was all Naomi responded with, her eyes thoughtful before she leaned forward again and grabbed another of her numerous gifts. Anna was sitting beside her, sipping hot chocolate, and Samandriel was handing her tape when she needed it. Balthazar was passed out on the couch.

The house was silent for the following twenty minutes.

Cas was the next to break it. Rising from his seat, he muttered something about going up to his room before retreating that way. He only glanced to his mother, refusing to look Anna or Samandriel in the eye. Which wasn't that surprising. Things between him and Anna had been tense, Samandriel only feeding awkward confusion to the situation.

Balthazar just avoided the whole thing.

And so the silence continued even with Cas gone. Anna knew she'd sound irritated if she spoke, Samandriel was afraid to, and Naomi was too busy contemplating her son to care much. Things would probably be livelier if Chuck were there, but he was out with his own parents that night. Some of them did have "lives," after all.

And so, again, the silence continued.

Eventually, something had to happen however.

A knock echoed around the house.

Eyebrows furrowed, Naomi rose to her feet, younger gazes trailing her as she went to the kitchen before vanishing into the entranceway. They heard her speaking to someone, happily perhaps, before two sets of footsteps came back around the corner. Naomi was smiling to herself; Dean Winchester trailed behind with a charming grin. Upon seeing all of Cas's friends, he saluted nonchalantly. A few of them nodded, but the tension in the room didn't get entirely by him. Eyebrows furrowed, he glanced around for Cas, his search cut short when Naomi began speaking to him again.

"And of course," she was probably continuing on from their previous conversation at the door, "Jim and I would be most happy to see both you and Samual, if he's here by then, on Sunday."

"I'll keep it in mind Mrs. Novak," Dean tapped his temple, as if committing the date to memory.

"When does Samuel get here?"

"Tonight, actually," Dean verified, seeing as it was Friday. "Late though." Not till sometime around midnight or eleven. "Where's Cas?" He interjected the question that was really plaguing him, seeing as he hadn't been able to spot the other man anywhere.

"He went upstairs a little while ago," Naomi verified. "To his room I think." She had furrowed her eyebrows some, as if considering her son's reasons for doing so (because it was kind of rude to simply leave his friends downstairs with her). Of course, she was unaware of the tense attitude that had sprung up between a few of them and her beloved son. "I'll go get him."

"I'll go!" Dean volunteered a little too adamantly. "I mean, I'll go get him Mrs. Novak. No need to continue interrupting whatever it was you were doing." Anna rolled her eyes at his "smooth" recovery.

"O-okay," Mrs. Novak blinked back her surprise as Dean headed around her to the stairs, which were easily located along the back wall of the living room. "His room is the first one on the right." Dean waved his understanding back at them before taking the stairs two at a time. Once up in the hallway, he zeroed in on the correct door, which was closed. He didn't even consider knocking, instead pushing his way inside and about to announce his presence. But his voice died when he saw the mound of man curled up in the blankets atop the bed, unmoving aside from easy breathing.

The steady breathing of sleep.

Shoulders dropping, Dean walked further into the room, shutting the door behind him. Rounding the bed, he bent over Cas's sleeping figure, able to see his face surrounded in the covers at the head of the mattress. The immature, attention-seeking side of him wanted to rouse the other man, which he nearly did, but was instead caught by the way in which Cas's sleeping face held him back. He just looked so damn peaceful and, sighing to himself, Dean bent back up and folded his arms over his chest in displeasure. After all, he couldn't exactly blame the guy for wanting to take a nap. They hadn't exactly spent much time sleeping the night before. Were it not for the fact that he'd wanted to see Cas so badly (a feeling Dean wasn't quite sure what to think of), he'd probably be sleeping too.

Then again, if he couldn't sleep, why should Cas be allowed to?

Again, however, that damn peacefulness stopped him from acting and, huffing, he dragged his boot-clad feet around to the end of the bed before not too gracefully dropping himself atop the end of the mattress. Cas didn't stir however, Dean wondering how long his apparent compassion would actually last. Rather like a child, he bounced a few times on the mattress, shaking it, but still was rewarded with nothing. Clicking his tongue, he began swinging his legs into the metal base, a clinging sound echoing around the room. That was, until his heel hit something else. Something large that promptly slid further under the bed.

Glancing down between his legs, he saw the corner of something large and black sticking out. Bending over, he grabbed it before pulling it a little further out, his eyes eventually recognizing the long edge as the side of a black portfolio.

Someone had mentioned something about Cas's portfolio earlier in the week, if he remembered correctly. Glancing up, he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, but soon shrugged off any defenses he might have had. Getting off the bed, he easily bent down and pulled the large, cloth case out from under the bed. No shame in the noise he made, he sat his butt back on the bed before yanking it up and unzipping it.

However, upon seeing the pieces inside, he decided that perhaps a certain level of care was probably necessary. So, fingers as delicate as he could make them, he pulled out the first canvas, which was layered on the front side by a few sheets of thin paper so as to protect it from the outside. Peeling that way, Dean found himself blinking down at an image of Anna. No, not an image, but a carefully executed oil painting.

Were he to be totally honest, Dean would have to admit that he'd never taken much interest in art. Didn't look at it regularly, knew next to nothing about it. The only "art" he looked at regularly were Busty Asian Beauties, but he wasn't sure that counted. Which was why he was left in a state of shock at the level of skill that was even possible to create such a piece. When he was dealing with paint, he could hardly get it to stick to whatever wall he was working with. But this… he hadn't even realized it was possible to utilize paint to the capacity that apparently Cas could.

Talk about artful hands (only how impressed he was stopped him from laughing at his own joke).

Propping the painting up on his thigh, he found his free hand reaching out to touch it, but stopped in abrupt questioning. Whenever he'd been on fieldtrips to art museums (rather, the only museum in Burr), he'd always been told not to touch anything. Maybe there was a reason for that.

Thus, he was left with only the ability to stare. To take in Anna's angelic form printed onto the canvas. It looked just like her, down to the last strand of red hair. But she was wearing some kind of layered gown, toga thing, only her upper body visible. And behind her drawn, sad eyes – stretching out into the background – were a pair of shining, white wings, silhouetted by pinking, red and white light.

Dean had a hard time looking away from it, actually.

It was only his interest in what else was inside the portfolio that spurred him to place it gently down against the bed and reach in for the next one. There were only four canvases able to fit into the bag, but Dean was determined to see every single one. Pulling out the next and, with far less hesitance this time, peeling away the protective sheets of paper, he took in the image.

This one, however, wasn't someone he recognized. Standing at profile with a single arm outstretched toward the right side of the canvas, he was a gallant, masculine, blonde man with a sharp, attractive profile. Like in the Anna image, he was dressed in something of a layered, toga-like outfit, a double pair of wings protruding off the canvas in the other direction. He was framed by a golden, shading to brown kind of light, confidence seeming to waft off the paint itself.

Dean took in everything he could about the painting, despite not knowing who it was (if the person existed at all), before replacing the paper over it and setting it down on the ground before the previous one.

The next was unwrapped as well, Dean recognizing Balthazar in much the same kind of getup as the previous two, only his wings were a kind of bronze color, which was accented by a shadowing, blue light in the background. He had a playful look on his face however, much like the expression Dean had already seen on him numerous times. Yes, it was definitely an accurate portrayal, that much was obvious despite how little Dean actually knew of the man.

Setting that one aside as well, he went to reach for the last, intent on revealing it, and was surprised when a hand reached around his shoulder and stopped him. Cas's hand clasped his own, Dean twitching his head over his shoulder to see the very man kneeling atop the bed directly behind him, blue eyes clouded as he halted further advances on the painting.

"You're awake," Dean stated dumbly, not at all ashamed of the fact that he'd been looking through Cas's things. Shouldn't have left them so out in the open, or so he figured.

"Yes," Cas nodded, his voice oddly guarded. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd leave that last painting inside the portfolio." If he was irritated at Dean's snooping, it didn't show. Or offended, or any manner of negative responses. No, all Dean could sense was a kind of reserved guard.

"You painted these, right?" Dean asked, releasing the piece in question as Cas sat back on the bed. He was still wrapped in the covers, appearing somewhat disheveled as Dean turned to look at him (though he still held the portfolio).

"Yes," Cas nodded in verification.

"They're really fuckin' good," Dean didn't bother hiding how astounded he actually was by the level of work. "I didn't even know it was possible for someone to paint like that. I mean, unless you were some genius like that one guy who does the baby angels. You always paint people with wings?"

"No," Cas shook his head. "It's a project I've been working on lately. I brought those with me in case I decided to work on another one. For inspiration." Because it was sometimes helpful to look back on what was already finished when trying to move forward.

"How do you get them to look so real?"

"My friends sit for me," he shrugged. "And I paint what I see." At least, as far as the more human parts. He added the clothing and the wings, and the lighting, but he assumed Dean could gather that much.

"You make it sound easy," Dean turned his attention back to the remaining painting, as if to try and look at it again, but Cas interrupted his endeavors.

"Please don't look at that one," he said again, their eyes meeting once more. To be quite frank, the idea of Dean seeing what was on the final canvas turned Cas's stomach to knots. Yes, he lacked in some social awareness, but even he knew that it'd be odd for someone, whom he hadn't seen in the last ten years, to find that he'd gone out of his way to paint them to their likeness. Their current likeness. It bothered him a little, to be honest, and he wasn't sure how Dean would react.

After all, they'd only just recently come to terms with their current situation. Cas had no desire to ruin it with his… abnormalities. Dean hadn't always reacted well to them…

"Why?" Dean asked then, his brows coming together curiously.

"It's… personal…" Cas replied, his eyes falling to the side.

Dean grinned. "Don't you think we've kind of crossed the line of 'personal' at this point?" His eyes were suggestive. Assuming that was defense enough, he returned again to the painting, Cas pursing his lips in discomfort before reaching out and taking hold of Dean's arm. He was still wearing his coat, the brown, worn leather somewhat cold and slippery in Cas's grip.

"Please Dean," he begged. "Leave it alone."

Dean's good humor finally began to wane, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he took in the way Cas avoided his stare. He didn't want to be suspicious of him, but, to be quite frank, they really didn't know each other that well. And though Sammy had told him to try and trust, it was difficult. After all, what could Cas honestly have to hide in a painting? Dean knew there was all that bullshit about "art reveals the true soul," but it wasn't as though he was going to somehow read all of Cas's deepest, darkest secrets from a painting.

"What is it of?" Dean asked then, unsure if he really wanted to weasel his way into this one or just drop it. He had the feeling, however, that if he just let it go, there'd be a serious chip in his ability to trust Cas – even if it was something as small as a painting – and he didn't want that. For crying out loud, he'd let Cas do him like a woman. What else was there to hide that could trump that?

"It's nothing," Cas blatantly lied. "Please don't worry about it."

"Well you're making me worry about it," Dean replied honestly. "It's just a painting."

"Exactly, so please stop asking."

"No."

"Dean," he finally looked up at him again, those blue eyes still guarded, which only irritated Dean more. Rebelliously, he pursed his lips and turned back to the painting, Cas sighing behind him before reaching up and taking Dean's arm yet again. This time, however, Dean pulled away before looking back once more.

"What are you trying to hide?" he asked finally.

Cas glanced away. Again. "It's not… I'm not trying to…" Dean stared hard at him, his eyes on the verge of a glare. Cas knew he had trust issues and maybe Dean was going a little far, or being a little defensive and immature, about a stupid painting, but he couldn't help that it bothered him. Maybe that was the whole idea. It was just a painting, so why go to such lengths to stop him from seeing it?

"Cas…"

"I'm afraid you'll… not like it…" Cas kind of admitted.

This took Dean somewhat aback, his eyebrows scrunching together in abrupt surprise.

"Not like it?" he repeated.

"Yes…" Cas was refusing to look at him again. And Dean, his mind racing, tried to run through all the things it could possibly be that would honestly offend him. However, he couldn't bring himself to imagine that Cas could have been capable of painting anything able to reach such a level. After all, he wasn't offended by much.

"I don't think you have to worry about that…" Dean replied slowly. "What is it and I'll tell you."

"I…" Cas had begun to twist his fingers apprehensively. "It's not so much what it is as…"

"Cas, just tell me," Dean flat out demanded.

"You're not going to like it."

"Why?"

"Because it… it's of…" Cas took a deep breath, as if gathering himself the courage to finally say it. "It's of you…"

"Me?" Dean balked in surprise. "Seriously?" He turned back to the painting. "Well now I have to see." He couldn't understand why Cas would think he wouldn't like a painting of himself. After all, he was adorable. Unless, of course, he was naked or something. But… well, he'd be great with that too actually. Frame it and put it above his bed, haha! "Don't know how you did it though," Dean was thoughtful. "I never 'sat for you,' or whatever." And the time they'd spent together, well, Cas certainly hadn't been painting, that was for sure.

"I know," Cas admitted then. "I…" Great, now he had to be honest. "I painted it before I came… to Burr."

This took Dean as second to consider.

"So…" he furrowed his brows. "You painted this… while you were in Chicago?" Cas nodded. "Alright…" So, maybe that was a little weird, actually. "Do you paint me often?"

"No," Cas shook his head quickly. "It… I don't… I don't know why I did it… or how…"

"'How?'" Dean didn't quite understand. However, now that he'd finally gotten something out of Cas, he decided he'd try and look at the painting again. And when he reached into the portfolio this time, he wasn't stopped. Taking it out, he quickly pulled away the paper, more excited to see it than he'd really realized.

What he got, however, hadn't been what he'd expected. It wasn't like the others, with the wings and fancy clothes. And bright lighting. No, it was dark, the edges black. And appearing as if from the shadows, was, well, him.

But it… it wasn't right. Not in the sense that there was something wrong with the painting itself. No, in fact, the "wrongness" of it seemed to stem from the fact that it was too right.

The two of them were silent for a few moments as Dean took it in. His face, which was aged beyond what Cas would have remembered of him, and his hair, which was cut as it was then, not how it'd been in high school. Even the shoulder of his jacket, which was the only part of his attire that was visible in the darkness of the frame, was, actually, the same leather jacket he was wearing at that very moment. A jacket he'd bought well after graduating.

However, what disturbed him the most was, rather, the look on his face. In the painting that was. His expression was… sad. Deeper, maybe, than what he usually allowed himself to show to other people; and it honestly made him extremely uncomfortable. The fact that he wasn't looking into a mirror and seeing that look, but that someone else had created it.

Had seen it.

Slowly, still unsure what to think, he looked back to Cas. Unfortunately, he now found himself even more suspicious than he had been before.

"Have you…" he narrowed his gaze once more. "Have you been watching me?"

The exact kind of reaction that Cas had been dreading.

"No," he defended quickly, finally flicking those blue eyes back up to Dean's, though this time the guarded look was reversed. "Like I said, I don't… I don't know how I did it. I hadn't thought of you at all, recently, when I'd made it. I'd been painting and I was tired and I just… it just happened. I don't… I don't even really remember painting it." Only that he knew he had.

"Right…" Dean replied darkly. "And you expect me to believe that?"

"Dean, I haven't been back in Burr since I was in high school," Cas replied a little sharply, not reacting well to Dean's accusation. "Ask my friends, or my parents." Or his boss. "Monday was the first time I'd seen you since…" Since they'd graduated.

"You have someone else watching me?" Taking pictures of him? After all, Cas could probably afford to have someone do that.

"No!" Cas defended, somewhat angry that Dean would even fathom he'd do something like that. "I've spent the last ten years trying not to think about you. I wouldn't go out of my way to make that impossible." Waking up that morning and seeing his own brush strokes and style on that painting had been painful enough.

"Well, you had to of been doin' something," Dean reasoned with raised eyebrows. "Because this whole thing is kinda creepin' me out. So why don't you just tell me the truth?" And if it sounded reasonable, perhaps he could try and forget about this whole thing.

"What part of 'I don't know how it happened' don't you understand?" Cas asked as he stood abruptly from the bed. He was obviously distraught, his blue eyes piercing into Dean's. "I haven't wanted anything to do with you for the last ten years. I never wanted to see you again. I wasn't about to go out of my way to… stalk you." Which was, apparently, what Dean though he'd been doing.

"Well damn, you don't have to say it like that," Dean replied, offended, and Cas sighed, as if helpless to say anything right as his eyes twitched to the wall. "I know I said some pretty shitty things, but I hadn't realized you'd hated me."

"I never hated you Dean," Cas reasoned tightly. "Don't you get that? I was in love with you," he took a deep breath, "and you rejected me. Of course I was going to… want to be away from you." Not want anything to do with him. "I did that painting a few weeks ago and it surprised me just as much as you." And looking at it, seeing it when he'd woken up, had been one of the most agonizing moments in his life. Because, as he'd come to realize lately, he'd never stopped loving Dean. He'd just… pushed him aside.

Which was why this whole thing between them… scared him so much.

"Okay!" Dean placed the painting aside, not wanting to look at it anymore. "Calm down, alright?" Because Cas was getting more and more upset by the second, Dean could see that as he paced shortly along one side of the room.

"I know…" he paused, his gaze falling to the floor as he spoke. "I know you think I'm strange and awkward. And I-"

"Cas, I believe you," Dean had risen to his feet, coming over to stand in front of him. Yet those eyes didn't meet his own. "And I don't think you're strange. At least, not any stranger than I am. And, well, you are awkward, so there's no thinking to that." He thought maybe Cas's lips had wanted to pull up into an amused smile. "If you say you don't know how it happened, then… then I guess that makes two of us."

"I assume that… that after deciding to come here for Christmas, I started thinking about the past," Cas tried to explain. "And maybe, somewhere in the back of mind, I… thought of you." Which had resulted in the painting. Granted, the jacket and the aged appearance, and the hair, was a little odd, but what else was he supposed to think?

Back in high school, he'd convinced himself that he and Dean had shared a special connection, some kind of profound bond, but he'd long since decided that was utterly ridiculous. Yet… there was the painting.

But had Dean ever felt the same way?

"Can I ask you something?" Cas started after a moment, finally glancing up to see that Dean was standing rather close, their noses within a foot of one another. For the first time since they'd started… whatever it was they were doing, Cas took a step back, more interested in the actual inner-workings of Dean Winchester than the physical attraction (not to say he wasn't interested in the latter).

"Uh, sure," Dean replied as Cas backed away from him, trying not to be turned off by it. Going back to the bed, Cas sat down on the edge of it, Dean deciding to follow shortly after. Supposing Cas wanted some space (for whatever reason), he placed himself with friendly space between them, not intimate. "Shoot."

"When we were in high school," Cas started. "You were a bully."

"Wow, thanks," Dean looked to the side.

"You beat up on other students," Cas continued on straight, not seeing the point in avoiding the truth of the matter. "But you never hurt me. Not once. Why?" Because Raphael had beat him up enough times, and Dean had watched it happen. Yet he'd never gotten involved (be that in a good or bad way).

"Cas," Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I know I should have done something to stop-"

"I'm not asking why you didn't stop it," Cas corrected, his eyes drawn to the window. "I'm asking why you never laid a hand on me." Because he'd physically bullied his fair share of people. Not as many as Raphael, but seeing as Cas had always been the lowest of all, he should have been a main target. For everyone.

"I dunno Cas," Dean huffed, honestly not wanting to talk about it. He wasn't proud of how he'd acted during high school, and maybe that was reason enough for him to face the music. That didn't, however, make it any easier. "I guess I figured you got beat up enough. Do we really have to talk about this?"

Cas didn't respond, instead allowing his eyes to fall to the floor. Again. And Dean sighed, able to see the way his expression had fogged over into one of quiet deliberation.

"I guess I just… didn't want to hurt you," Dean admitted, trying to figure it out himself. He's never given it any great length of thought. "You were always such a skinny, wimpy looking kid."

"It was because I was weak?"

"No, I just…" Dean sighed. "I don't know Cas. Beating on you just wasn't something I ever wanted to do."

"Why?" Cas looked up at him.

"I don't know!" Dean said a little too loudly. "Dammit Cas, if you can use the excuse of not knowing why, then I can too." He turned away, once again bothered. It wasn't pleasant, after all, remembering the way Cas had gotten picked on, humiliated, assaulted. If he could go back and do it again, he wouldn't have been such a jerk. He wouldn't have let Cas go home bloody and bruised and probably having to explain to his family.

Had they ever questioned him about it? About who did it? Abruptly, Dean was ashamed of how friendly he'd been with Mrs. Novak. Her son had been tortured all through high school and he'd just watched it happen.

It was disgusting, really.

"I suppose you're right," Cas quietly agreed, though his thoughts echoed with the fact that both of them were unable to justify their behavior concerning one another. The misunderstanding was linked in that, though Cas wasn't sure what to think of it. If there was anything to think.

No, he'd rather not. Considering the notion, that he and Dean had some… inherent connection – it was too painful. Too risky. He wasn't going to go there again.

"I wish you'd quit bringing up high school," Dean said then. "It wasn't exactly a shining moment in my past." Well, there were no shining moments in his past, were he being totally honest, which only made him feel worse.

"I'm sorry," Cas replied. "That's all I know of you."

"What a compliment."

"It is," Cas finally glanced over at him again. "I was in love with you." Because, at least as far as he was concerned, that should mean something.

"I can't imagine why," Dean shook his head. "But if you say so." To be honest, he didn't quite understand the interest Cas had in him then either. What did he have to offer? To impress with? He was one of the biggest losers in town, yet Cas was all over him. It was flattering, he supposed, but also confusing.

"Maybe love doesn't have explanations," Cas said, wondering if perhaps such a stance could be credited to their previous, unanswerable questions. But if that were the case, then that would mean Dean would have had to have felt something for him too.

"Do you still?" Dean asked abruptly, turning to him again as Cas furrowed his eyebrows questioningly. "Do you still love me?" The question just kind of popped out, Cas turning back to the window with a deep breath as he considered Dean's rather, well, loaded inquiry.

"I don't know," he admitted. "It's been ten years. Even if I did, what would that mean?" He hardly knew Dean anymore. Didn't someone have to know another to love them? That was what he'd told himself since, hadn't it been? He and Michael knew each other inside and out, didn't they? And he loved Michael?

Well… apparently not as much as he should. He was sleeping with Dean, wasn't he? Cheating. And he didn't regret it at all. In fact, he kind of wished that… that Michael wasn't even involved anymore. So did that mean he really, truly did love Dean still? That he'd never stopped?

Had he been settling for Michael?

He didn't know anymore…

Then again, how well had he really known Dean in high school? Had that justified love? Yet, looking back, he was quite positive he'd been in love with him. There was no other way to describe it, what he'd felt. And the agony that had plagued him afterward. Something that big, that scarring, it couldn't have been anything else. But why? Why had he loved Dean?

He'd never really asked himself before. Did love have reason?

"This is all so confusing," he admitted quietly. "What about you?" He addressed Dean again. "Did you ever feel anything for me?" Maybe that was the better question to ask. Not why he hadn't bullied him, the negative, but whether there'd been something positive.

Dean didn't answer right away, contemplating the question as his eyes searched the sheets of the bed. He didn't remember feeling much of anything in high school. He'd been too caught up in trying to be something he wasn't. But, when Cas had admitted to him before graduation, it'd haunted him… forever – since then. Cas hadn't been someone he'd thought about all the time, but he had entered his head on numerous occasions over the years. Perhaps, subconsciously, he'd been considering what might have been, what he could have had, if he hadn't been so bullheaded and concerned with his image. If he'd seen Cas without the judgment goggles he'd long since thrown away.

Because there was no denying he was attracted to Cas currently, so he'd probably liked men his whole life. He'd kind of known, hadn't he? He'd accepted it through the years, hence why he'd adapted so well. But back then, when he'd been a stupid teenager… he never would have allowed himself to entertain the idea.

"No, I didn't," he finally said. "But, maybe if I'd known better, I could have."

Cas sighed. "I guess it doesn't matter anymore," he decided. "It was a long time ago."

"Not really," Dean laughed bitterly to himself, the two of them staring at each other again. It was then, looking at that perplexed expression, that Dean was struck. "I do remember one thing," he reached out, his fingers finding Cas's top lip and touching it softly. "I remember your lips," he admitted, Cas furrowing his eyebrows as Dean pulled his hand away again. "I dunno why, but something about your lips." He chuckled to himself. "And your eyes." When Raphael had beat up on him, he'd never been able to look at him. To see those eyes staring up. "Maybe I was attracted to you and didn't know it." He shook his head. "I sound like a lovesick schoolgirl or some shit, huh."

"No you don't," Cas assured gently, reaching out and taking Dean's hand. "I don't think so." Their fingers twined together, both of them watching. Cas's hands were skinnier than Dean's, but longer. And oddly rough, like Dean's own. Not quite so worn, but not virgin either.

"You know," Cas smiled shortly to himself. "I did used to draw you in high school."

"Really," Dean smiled to himself. "Sounds kinky."

"Not exactly," Cas assured good-humoredly.

"Nah, seriously," Dean pulled his hand away, placing both behind his head before striking a seductive pose. "Oh Castiel, won't you draw me like one of your French girls?"

Cas did grin then. "I suppose if you wanted me to. Though I've never drawn any French girls."

"It was a joke. I wasn't being serious."

Cas shrugged, the two eyeing each other momentarily. Before, finally, Dean leaned forward and captured those lips between his own (his whole purpose in coming up to get Cas in the first place). The now familiar touch rang through them both, Dean's hands reaching up to cup Cas's cheeks and neck. He allowed the heated touch to run through him, those artistic fingers soon coming up to grip at his jacket.

Abruptly, Dean was desperate. With passion, yes, but not with the fleeting, rushed fire that had plagued them both the last few days. No, this seemed to burn from somewhere deep, deep down on the pit of his stomach. It furled higher, slowly, as he continued to pull those lips between his own. It twisted his insides and pulled at his spine, leaving him breathless yet unable to back away. Their movements became clumsy, needed, but neither could bring themselves to care. Instead, chests heaving, they continued to tug back and forth, as if trying to wrench free the other's insides. The very essence, perhaps, of what they were.

Falling back against the bed, Cas's head hit the sheets softly, Dean pulling himself up over him and unwilling to let go. Hand traveling down from Cas's neck to his chest – to his shirt – he grabbed at the fabric, suddenly afraid that if he wasn't holding on, everything beneath him would crumble away and disappear. It'd all be gone and he'd be alone again. Lost again, maybe. If he was truly found at all.

And as those fingers shifted into his hair, he relished the touch – the heated marks those little tugs left against his scalp. He was pulled as close as possible, as if Cas wanted no space at all between them, and Dean did his best to oblige. To wrap his arms around that now familiar body and squeeze all the possible air there could be between them away.

Until all that was left was something raw and honest, and more real than Dean had felt in a long time. Better than his constant days backhanded into a life where he felt no control. Over and over again he'd pushed that existence, perhaps wanting himself as little as he'd been wanted by anyone else. But the sensation of Cas's form beneath his, dragging him in, raised him up. Maybe he was using Cas as an excuse to feel that way; maybe that was the whole point. But for the first time in a long time, he didn't want it to end.

He didn't want to give up.

And it wasn't until there was literally no more breath between them that they were forced to part. Lips hovering together, touching lightly, Dean opened his eyes, catching that blue staring back up at him. Reaching again, his hand found Cas's face, holding it despite how he was trembling. His whole form seemed to be shaking, quite out of his control, and it was only Cas's eyes that kept him grounded. And those hands, which wrapped tightly around his neck and held him still.

Held him safe.

Held him at all.

He didn't know where it came from, the abrupt flooding of… something he didn't understand. But it welled up within him so suddenly that there was no quelling it. No stopping it. An assault he couldn't ward off, he found himself looking away from Cas, if only to try and hide it, an endeavor that was already failing. Like the rest of him, his chin shook, his whole throat running dry as the little water within him seemed to leak down across his cheeks.

He didn't know where it came from, or why, but he had no control. Moving his forehead until it was against the sheets, beside Cas, he let it take him, unable to do anything else.

Helpless.

And Cas, who was uncertain as to what it all meant, did the only thing he knew he could. He held him tighter, trying to stop the shaking with his own strength. He gripped at his neck and back, and wrapped him up as much as he humanly could.

"It's alright," he murmured softly, his muscles straining with the force he used to hold him. "It's alright Dean," he continued. "It's alright."

But it wasn't. It hadn't been alright in a long, long time, and Dean only seemed to grow worse, Cas's own agony at witnessing it tightening his chest until he thought it might break. Because the quiet sobs seemed to come from somewhere Cas didn't comprehend and, maybe, couldn't. Experience, perahps, that he didn't have. And a different kind of loneliness. One of bleak, stark walls and flickering lights. As if all the life had been sucked out of the world, maybe.

A wind that came down over the hills and blew past as if in a hurry to move on without stopping. Without a second thought.

"I'm here Dean," he assured, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm right here with you."

He didn't have to be alone anymore.