Author's Note: Training trip is this week, so the next chapter might be a bit late. Hope this one will keep you satisfied until then! As always, reviews are manna from heaven :D
Dean's head snapped back, breaking the embrace. No. His brain was shutting down, ultimately rejecting his body's actions. His mind jumped, skipped, and hopped, random thoughts flashed through his consciousness. I'm a fucking idiot, followed quickly by I didn't mean it, and finally settling on an image of Annmarie Davis stretched out in the backseat, naked and inviting. Cas was squinting at him expectantly, trying to gauge his reaction. Dean was aware of the other boy's breath, harsh and ragged against his neck. "Cas, I-" he gulped, gasping like a fish. What would Dad say? Dean's physical instincts took over. He shoved Cas roughly out of the way and bolted from the room.
Sam awoke from some half-remembered nightmare, reaching automatically through the darkness for his older brother. The empty space at his side shocked him into awareness like a bucket of cold water. "Dean?!" he cried out into the stale air, but no answer was forthcoming. The red, spiky readout on the motel clock announced that it was 2AM. Sam quickly flicked on the lamp perched precariously on the bedside table, reaching under the mattress to pull out a shotgun as he did so. Cradling the weapon in the crook of his elbow, like he'd seen Dean do so many times, Sam examined the small room, trying his best to remember what he'd been taught. Salt lines are undisturbed, temperature feels normal, doors and windows are locked. Maybe he decided to go out for a late-night drink or cruise for a hookup. But that didn't sit right with Sam. The lack of a note for one, and he'd never leave me alone like this with Dad gone. Fear stole through Sam like a chill wind. Whatever got Dad got Dean. And now it's coming for you. Sam tried desperately to ignore his trembling fingers, fighting to keep control of the shotgun. Stop being such a baby. That's ridiculous. But was it? Already in his thirteen short years, Sam Winchester had seen a heckuva lot stranger things happen to families far more normal than his own. He reached the bathroom on tiptoe, hands closing around the vial of holy water stashed behind the toilet. Sam had to find the connection between the disappearances. Find the demon, find my family. Sam tried to ignore a sinking feeling of inadequacy growing in the pit of his stomach; if his big brother, or even Dad, couldn't handle this thing, how could he? I'll get the drop on him somehow, Sam thought determinedly, reaching the living area and stealthily pulling the Lesser Key of Solomon from under a couch cushion. He finally deemed the motel safe enough to turn on the light, and in fact decided to turn on all the lights. If the lights go out, that's a sign of spirit activity Sam reasoned, grabbing a flashlight too, just to be safe. No Winchester was ever afraid of the dark.
Dean stared dully at his pale, sweating reflection in the warped hospital mirror. Most likely only a few minutes had passed since he'd stumbled, retching, into the cramped and yellowing restroom, but it felt like a lifetime. Dean pressed a hand to his stomach and took a few long, slow, breaths in an attempt to ease his roiling gut. He splashed some more cold water on his face with quivering hands, hoping that somehow this was all a crazy bad dream brought on by a late-night beer and potato chips binge. This can't be happening. It never happened. I'm gonna wake up to Sammy banging around the motel getting ready for school. Maybe he'll even save some food for me. Damned kid eats like a horse. Dean closed his eyes, trying to breathe life into the illusion, but the sound of the door banging open shattered his carefully constructed walls. He caught sight of Cas standing behind him in the mirror. Dean whipped around furiously, fists raised. He felt like a dog he'd seen once that had gotten it's leg caught in a bear trap deep in the woods. The poor thing was mangled, the leg crushed down to the bone and held fast by iron jaws. Dean could smell the blood and fear radiating off the animal, but when he'd approached the dog to free it, he'd nearly gotten his hand bitten off. "JUST GIVE ME A MOMENT TO FUCKING BREATH OKAY?" he shouted.
"I… take it you are dissatisfied," Cas mumbled quietly. His face was drawn and pale, those hypnotizing eyes staring numbly from their sockets. His shoulders were slumped, hunched over like an old man. Poor guy looks almost as messed up as I feel.
All the fight went out of Dean instantly. How the hell do I answer that? "I don't know how I feel right now," was his hoarse, hollow reply. As he spoke, Dean realized that he was telling the truth. He couldn't discern his feelings anymore. They were buried underneath expectations and duties and Winchester bravado. He backed up until he found the wall and slip down its length until he was sitting on the floor, his knees bent up towards his chin. He rubbed his temples, feeling both the physical and emotional exhaustion set in. He heard a rustle of cloth beside him. Surprised, he opened his eyes to see Cas crouched on the ground, a bit too close for comfort as always. The boy looked strangely pensive, running the tip of his tongue over his lips in a distracted fashion, as if he could still taste the kiss but couldn't decide if he liked it or not.
"I have my own doubts as well, Dean. As you may have noticed I don't exactly 'feel' the way humans are supposed to," he said, using air quotes for emphasis, "and well, I don't exactly know what this means."
Dean sighed, his head was still spinning. He needed to tackle one problem at a time. "There's no way I'm dealing with all that emotional crap right now. Or ever. Let's focus on finding out what the hell you are."
Cas nodded slowly, although the sideways glance he threw at Dean indicated that he suspected the other boy was ignoring the real issue. "Don't you think we should-"
"No, I don't," Dean cut him off brusquely. "Now is the time for action!" He stood a bit too quickly, forcing him to cling to a sink while the black spots cleared from his eyes. He was grinning, but not his usual confident smirk. The corners of Dean's mouth were stretched tightly and his eyes shone with a manic, fevered brightness.
Cas reached out to lay a hand on his arm, but Dean jerked spastically away. "I'm serious dude, no touchy-feely stuff."
"Alright. I apologize." Cas withdrew his hand, "However, how am I supposed to act when I see you at work? I do not understand the nature of our… relationship."
Dean flinched visibly. "You're gonna act damn well like you always do," he growled, "Nothing's changed here." Though they both knew that was a lie.
"And you?" Cas murmured tentatively. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared resolutely at the ground. Dean realized then that Cas was trying to protect their friendship, bond, whatever the hell it was that had brought them together in the first place. His heart gave another painful squeeze and he arranged his face in what he hoped resembled a smile.
"Of course I'll be the same… Spaceboy." That seemed to placate Cas, who awkwardly reached out and shook his hand.
"You should probably get going," he whispered earnestly, "The nurses will come for rounds any minute now."
Shit. Dean didn't know how much time he'd wasted in that bathroom. He refused to think about what would happen if he was discovered. He darted around Cas and ducked into the hallway, first checking that the coast was clear in all directions. Dean threw the boy a halfhearted wave before disappearing down the corridor. Cas watched him leave, illuminated by the sickly glow of the fluorescent overhead lights, and try to put a name on the curious sensation that was bubbling up inside his chest.