He's not entirely sure how Cas is managing to make eating one of Pam's burgers so pornographic, but he's definitely managing it and it's completely thrown him off his game. They're only in Pam's diner anyway because Dean gets free food (and he's very very broke right now) and he wasn't exactly expecting Cas to look at the burger like it was the freaking sun say 'this makes me very happy' and then start eating it like that.
It's weird, cause he's never really thought of Cas as a particularly sexual person.
Cas is awkward and moody and acts like he's just fallen out of the sky and is at a loss as to how to react to the whole humanity thing. Yeah, he sounds like he's chain smoked for years and it's hard not to think of sex when he switches into French or Spanish or one of the other many languages Cas speaks… but that always seemed kind of accidental. He's a little too nerdy and he doesn't flirt or notice when someone's hitting on him… he's slept with one person for God's sake.
Except the noises he's making around his burger belong in a porno and Dean doesn't know where he's supposed to put those thoughts, and it's very distracting.
So now he's accidentally visualising Cas in various situations making these noises and trying very hard not to say something awkward and inappropriate like 'so, about that gay sex thing, Cas…. Bottom or top?' because he's pretty sure that's not acceptable lunchtime conversation. Plus, he doesn't know what he'd do with that information if he had it.
Seriously, though, Cas is kinda bad ass. He can't imagine Castiel with anyone remotely camp (he can't really put his finger on why, but it just doesn't compute in his head) so he's filling in the role of Cas ex-boyfriend as some well-built jock type, before erasing that and picking some super smart guy, before giving up and deciding he won't ever work it out. And Cas probably isn't going to tell him.
Which sucks.
"Enjoying your burger, Cas?" Dean asks, giving him a pointed look that Cas doesn't really understand, if the way his forehead crinkles is anything to go by.
"Yes," Cas says, "it's very enjoyable."
"Good," Dean says, because there's not much else he can say to that and he's not going to be the one to explain that some noises are inappropriate in public because, well, he's just not.
And then his phone rings.
He picks it up and it might be Sammy, Sammy might be calling him, it might be Sam –
It's Crowley.
"Dean, I'm led to believe answering the phone is more helpful than simply glaring at it."
"Blow me, Cas," Dean grimaces, finally picking it up and answering it, "Crowley."
"Dean," Crowley says, and Dean can just imagine him sat in his office with his legs on his desk, grinning, "What are you wearing?"
"Shut up," Dean says, on reflex. Everything about Crowley makes his skin crawl, from his British accent to his innuendo. Normally, he's quite good at holding up his give-em-hell attitude, but somehow Crowley leaves him wrong footed and awkward.
"Okay," Crowley says, and hangs up.
"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters, redialling, "Crowley, you dick –"
He half expects Crowley not to answer and let him stew for another few days, but he does and Dean's not sure whether or not he's glad about that.
" – my, my, Dean," Crowley says down the line, "such mixed signals."
"Quit screwing around,"
"Fine, enough foreplay. I assume you've reconsidered my offer."
"I'll take it,"
"No deal," Crowley says.
"What?" Dean asks, feeling something like panic building up in his gut. Yeah, Crowley and the interview was a shitty last resort, but it is also his last resort (because he's not selling the Impala, he is not selling the Impala, he is never selling the damn Impala) and despite the radio silence from Crowley, he still figured Crowley would follow through.
"I'm halving my offer."
"You son of a bitch,"
"You'll have to sweeten the pot, Dean," Crowley says, enjoyment evident, "How's your brother?"
He would very much like to tell Crowley to go fuck himself and his stupid interview, but he's desperate and they both know it. If he'd been smart about this, he'd have just called once and not begun to let on just how desperate he is.
Then again, he's pretty sure he told Crowley he'd rather sell his soul than give him a damn interview, so it's not like he'd have been able to convince him anyway. It's a matter of dumb luck that he actually wrote down the number.
"The money is non-negotiable."
"I'm quartering it."
"Two thirds,"
"Three eights,"
"Half, fine."
"Done," Crowley sneers down the phone, "You accept that I'm allowed to twist whatever you say however I like."
"The hell you need me for, then?"
"Permission," Crowley says, "I know, the red tape will drive you crazy."
Dean can see Ron slumping at the forefront of his vision, the life seeping out of his eyes, the blood… the only reason he'd even considered doing a damn interview was to set the papers caricature impression of Ronald Resnick straight; he might have been pretty messed up in the grapefruit, but he wasn't trying to hurt anyone.
That was clearly not the story Crowley wanted.
"Misquotes are gonna cost you extra," Dean says, pressing a finger into his forehead, "I aint some cheap whore, Crowley."
"Two thirds," Crowley says, "if you throw in a photograph."
Fuck. All the other papers had photos of him, sure, but most of those were taken by camera phones outside the bank… he's pretty sure Crowley's going to require something a little less pixelated.
"Fine," Dean says, swallowing back the urge to throw up, "Fine."
"Then we have a deal, Winchester."
"What now?"
"Now," Crowley says, "we consummate. The interview is on Thursday."
"I'm busy."
"Cancel," Crowley says, then he hangs up and Dean's reacquainted with the dial tone. He's highly tempted to throw his phone at a wall, but it seems counter-productive given his financial situation.
"I feel dirty," Dean complains, staring at his half-finished burger feeling pretty hard done by. He's not even hungry any more, which is saying something considering how good Pam's burgers are (even though he serves them our everyday they're still good every time, which is more than he can say for the rest of the shit tips he's worked in). "I'm going for a smoke."
When he comes back into the diner, Cas has ordered them both pie and his loss of appetite dissipates slightly (at least, enough to make room for his slice of pie and half of Cas', because pie is just necessary).
000
The second Missouri sees Dean's sling, she says 'what have you done now, boy?' and lets them both into her office without another word. Dean winds up putting his foot in it (and nearly on the coffee table, which was apparently a bad thought to have) a couple of times and Missouri gives him one of those all to seeing looks that makes Dean want to drink a bottle or four of whiskey.
He gets the extension. Mainly because Cas sweet talks over his loud mouth, and gets Dean talking about the subject of Sam. Then, course, Dean pulls out the picture of Sam and starts rambling on about how well Sam's doing in school before he remembers he made a silent pact with himself not to talk any more.
"You will check in with me every week, Dean," Missouri says, as Dean's itching to get out of her office, "or so help me I will call your brother and get him to talk some sense into you. And don't you dare think about standing me up."
"She's nice," Cas says, as they get back into Dean's car. Dean stares at him in amazement because nice isn't the word he'd used (internally, he usually goes for terrifying). Actually, Sam had really liked her (because, of course, his shit of a little brother had insisted coming to his meeting with the college), but then Missouri always seemed to have insight beyond what she should – which is why Dean avoids her like the plague, because he doesn't need any more Dr Phil figures in his life, thanks – and Sam's been looking for answers for years.
"Sam hasn't called," Dean says, because Sam's absence has got physically painful in the past couple of hours.
He's done his best at giving his brother some space. He hasn't called. He hasn't texted. He hasn't bugged Ellen continually about how he's doing (which sucks extra, because it means he's barely spoken to Ellen or Jo either and there his family too). He gets that Sam needs some space, sure, because after that evening with Cas he was beginning to think that maybe he needed a little space too… but Sam's gotta know that the silence is driving him crazy.
Cas sighs.
"I'm trying, man," Dean complains, glaring out the window, "I'm going to all these stupid classes and I've got a frigging extension. What good is all this crap if Sam doesn't even know about it?"
"You're supposed to want to do these things for you, Dean."
"Well I don't give a crap about me."
"That's the problem."
"I get it," Dean says, his chest clenching, "I've seen this show before with my Dad, okay? But I just… I can't. Someone's gotta cut me some slack."
"Dean," Cas says, turning to look at him, "your family are all willing to make allowances, you are just asking for the wrong ones. Would you stand by and watch Sam develop an addiction? Throw himself into dangerous situations?"
"It's different," Dean says, even though he knows it's not. He doesn't like it when people throw logic at his internal truths like that, because it throws his equilibrium off track. Sam and Ellen and Bobby and the rest can't love him the way he loves them, because he's the monumental worthless fuck up. That's just how it is.
And when he doesn't think too much about the fact that he's their family too, it's easy to hide under his smart ass comments and scratching the superficial itches (drink, food, sex) and happily ignore the fact that he really hates himself. He didn't even know he hated himself until right after the bank robbery, when he was sat in the apartment thinking about how much he should have been the one to die. Even then, he didn't think on it until he was drunk and literally asking for a fight, because it's easier not to.
After he realised he hated himself he then started to become aware of just how much and that's sure as shit not helpful in day to day life. He hates the way he takes advantage of Cas – letting him drive him around and take him to college, even though he's gonna fail and wind up in the gutter anyway. He hates the way he's never quite good enough for Sam – because if he was, Sam wouldn't be worried about him. He hates the way he turns to drinking exactly like their Dad did and he hates that he still can't decide whether he should be obeying his Dad's last orders or running the hell away from them.
It's not like it's a new thing, either. He hated himself when he dropped out of high school, even if he didn't acknowledge it. He's furiously hated himself every time Sam ran away. He's hated that he can't save people and that he's such a screw up that everyone he loves leaves.
He doesn't want to think about that, though, and it's much easier to ignore if people stop challenging his self-deprecating view of reality…. because it was startling to realise the depths of his self-loathing and now it's difficult to become unaware of it.
He never thought of himself as someone with low self-esteem.
"You ever been arrested, Cas?" Dean asks. "Because I got arrested in Maine. I managed to send Sam out the SOS before they got the cuffs on. He skipped his Lit class to make a fake 911 call then ran back to the motel to pack up all our crap. I broke out of a police station and we drove across two states. We were just lucky that he bought my fake name. Sam was thirteen. I don't deserve to be forgiven for that."
"What were you arrested for?"
"Does it matter?" Dean asks. Cas meets his gaze with a flat expression. "I was shop lifting food. I'd done the same place they day before. Rookie error."
"Why were you stealing food?"
"Well, it wasn't for my own sense of amusement," Dean says, "Dad hadn't been home in a few days and thirteen year olds need to eat. He'd ran off with my last fake credit card. Should've gone out and hustled some pool, but I didn't wanna leave Sammy alone in the Motel."
"You were doing your best."
"There was another shop two blocks over," Dean says, his voice low, "if I hadn't been so frigging arrogant, Sam could have stayed in that school till the end of the semester."
"It was three years ago."
"Yeah, which means Sammy was thirteen years old making fake 911 phone calls whilst he should be in class. I know he's gonna resent me and I've gotta atone for all that crap I put him through, but I… I need him to talk to me."
"You need to forgive yourself," Cas says, each word punching out of him deliberately.
"I'll forgive myself when Sam stops running away," Dean says, pressing his shoulder against the door of Cas' crap car. Sam's presence makes him calmer and he's not sure what he's doing without it.
"I think your father was an assbutt," Cas says, pulling up in front of Dean's building.
He doesn't usually stand for people insulting his father, but then Dean had ripped into Cas's Dad (and his brothers, and his sister) plenty, so he probably would have let it slide even if Cas hadn't chosen the insult assbutt. But, assbut? Dean finds a short laugh escaping without meaning to, his chest constricting around the brief spark of amusement, before he turns to face Cas.
"Likewise, Cas, likewise."
When he's out the car, he pulls out his phone and types out a message to Sam. He dithers over it for half an hour before he eventually decides to hell with it and presses send.
A text message isn't too invasive. Sam can ignore it if he wants to. And, hell, maybe Sam wants to talk to him – it's unlikely, but he wouldn't past his brother to be stubbornly angry and achingly eager to talk to someone. On previous occasions, Sam has laid down the law that he wants to be the first to get in touch, then anxiously waited for Dean to keep chasing after him.
Kids only a teenager, so it's natural. He can ignore the text if he doesn't want to talk to him, but Dean can't ignore the gnawing sensation that comes with not talking to Sam for this long.
Did u know Cas is gay!?
Sam calls him within a minute.
"Dean, of course I knew," Sam says, and Dean can feel every single muscle relax slightly. Sam sounds fine. Better than fine, actually, he sounds great. "How did you not know?"
"Dunno,"
"Just because he doesn't carry round a handbag –"
"– Sam, I can hear your bitch face," Dean grins, "I know the gay stereotype thing is bullshit, Sam, so don't –"
" – I hope you weren't a dick about it," Sam says, but he sounds like he's smiling slightly too. Dean can exactly visualise all his expressions and, yeah, maybe it's not the same as his brother actually being here… but it's good.
"Dude," Dean says, "I'm offended."
"Dean, it's not like you have a good track record with things like this,"
"Things like what?" Dean asks, "This ain't exactly a regular occurrence. How'd you know, anyway?"
"We talked about it," Sam says, and Dean can't deny that one hurts. Maybe he'll call Bobby later and ask him if he gives off some weird homophobic vibes, because it's one thing Cas not telling anyone about it… but why did he tell Sam and not him? It doesn't help that Sam seems to think he put his foot in it (which yeah, he kind of did, but… it's not like he could have known without Cas mentioning it). He's not an asshole, damnit, and it'd help if everyone didn't actually think he was.
"Since when do you and Cas talk, anyway?"
"He's your best friend," Sam says, with a probably bitch face 3.0 (it's difficult to tell without the visual, but he's pretty damn sure), which usually means Christ Dean you're such an idiot or something of that calibre. The icy feeling in Dean's chest defrosts slightly.
"Huh."
"What?" Sam asks. "Don't tell me that's news to you."
"Oh, shut up," Dean says, "I've never had a best friend before."
"Cute," Sam says.
"Bitch,"
"Jerk,"
"How's Ellen?" Dean asks, even though it makes his voice come out slightly strained and he doesn't want to ruin the moment… but he can't just pretend this is normal now Sam's actually talking to him, because everything about not having Sam in the room next door feels unnatural.
"She's good," Sam says, his voice slightly tight too, "You don't have to avoid the Roadhouse just because of me," he continues, all in a rush, "Jo and Ash are your friends."
"I didn't think you wanted to see me."
"Dean," Sam says, and it sounds like he wants to cry, "It's not like that."
"It's exactly like that, way I see it."
"I miss you," Sam says, and Dean suddenly remembers that this is the same Sam he taught how to walk and talk; the same Sam that cried when their Dad missed parent's evening and the same Sam that used to crawl into his bed in the middle of the night because he had nightmare. He's just a kid, damnit, and Dean should never have put any of this on him.
He can't have Sam thinking he's about to off himself. He's gotta convince him he's fine. He's gotta up his game face, because Sam's just a teenager and he's been through enough.
"I miss you too, Sammy," Dean says, glancing at the floor of his apartment and closing his eyes, "I'm gonna fix this, Sam, I promise you."
"Yeah," Sam agrees. Dean can hear the tears in his voice. It doesn't help.
"But you gotta call me, man," Dean says, "I need to know you're all right."
"Sorry," Sam says.
"Doesn't matter," Dean says, "but call me."
"I will," Sam says, "I… I've gotta go do my homework."
"Damn straight," Dean says, "I might get Cas to drive me to the Roadhouse when he's on shift at some point this week, okay? I'll text you and let you know when I'm gonna be there."
He doesn't say 'so you can avoid me if you want to' but the subtext is pretty clear.
"Yeah," Sam agrees, "See you, Dean."
"Bye," Dean tells the dial tone. He crosses the kitchen and turns on the coffee maker, because he needs something tonight, and if all he's allowed is a shed load of cigarettes and a lot of expresso, that's what it's gonna have to be.
He's gonna finish going through Cas' shit tone of receipts and make a proper plan about how to convince Sam he can trust him again, even if it takes all night.
He gets it. He gets what Cas has been trying to tell him. He's pretty sure he knows what he's gotta do, but it's difficult to know where to start.
Talked to Sam. What do I need to do to convince him I'm okay?
Cas texts back thirty one minutes later, not that Dean is counting.
Give up smoking.
Ah, crap.
How do I have so much uni work already? Insert grumbling here. Oh, well. Thanks for reading! :)
