Chapter Fourteen - Risk. Reward.

John's just left last night, and Dean hates to admit he's relieved but he is. So he wakes up feeling pretty ok. On top of that, Sam is in one of those hilariously manic moods that children get into. So goofy and hyper for no apparent reason that, though Dean chuckles, it is almost terrifying. Little kids can be so damn weird. Sam simply woke up exhilarated and yelled and wiggled his way through their morning rituals until Dean had to tell him to hold still you little squirrel as he pulled one of his comically small t-shirts over his hysterically laughing little brother's head.

John took the car this time around, so Dean is exhausted by the time he treks from the city bus stop to the high school, but he finds that he's happy. Kind of generally amused by everything. Sam can do that to him, make him stupidly happy. The little bastard's good mood rubs off on him.

When he gets to Room Seven Cas looks up at him, considers him a moment, and smiles. It's a small, private thing. A shadow, compared to anyone else's but no less real.

"You're light today," Cas says, completely even. Dean shrugs, blushes a little bit for the implication that Cas is observant of his moods, as if Dean warrants such attention. Which Dean is never going to admit, makes him feel special.

"You?" he asks back. "How's your morning?" Dean knocks his shoulder against Cas' teasingly.

Cas' almost-smile falters, his eyes leave Dean's, trailing to some point beside Dean, and then down to the floor. Dean can see something there, and he squints at Cas, worried and curious and very much wanting to know what in Cas' life makes him shy away, when it seems like so little can.

"Lonesome," Cas admits quietly, just when Dean thinks he's going to say nothing.

Something fiercely protective flares in Dean, and it's startling really, because he's never felt that way for anyone but Sam and John. He feels all at once that no one and nothing should be able to make Cas feel sad, like it's a crime and he should fix it. Dean knows, intimately, the terrifying and desolate feeling of loneliness. In some ways, it's worse than physical pain. And it occurs to him that while he's always acknowledged that Cas is like him in the sense that he doesn't have a crowd or a clique, Dean always imagined the boy simply possesses a superhuman, ridiculously mature outlook on solitude that negates any childish feelings of loneliness. He realizes in this moment, that he was wrong.

It's easy to look at Cas and think he's above normal things, like feelings; there's something kind of alien about him in that way. But it's somewhat comforting to see the softer side of him, to see he can be made to feel, and for Dean it's like he's looking at Cas and seeing the teenaged boy he truly is for the first time.

When Cas turns his big blue eyes up to Dean's, the edges of his cool facade of carelessness are peeling up at the edges, and Dean can see Cas' fear - that he's admitted too much. Said something too real. Dean realizes, maybe Cas is just as scared as him of rejection and teasing, maybe he always has been, but is just that much better at hiding it.

There's is no joke, no teasing quip on the edge of Dean's tongue. All he can think, as he looks at Cas, is that he's just so goddamned fascinating.

And beautiful.

Cas swallows loudly, steps in close to Dean's body, and stands there, the heat of his body mingling with Dean's own to make the space between them warm and very nearly lulling. This expression comes over Cas when he steps into Dean's space, that utterly transfixes the taller boy - like the more proximity Cas gains to Dean, the more resolute he feels. Not scared or worthy of pity, but possessing of a serene kind of certainty. Dean sees the muscle in Cas' jaw tick as he gathers his fortitude, and this time, Dean knows it is coming.

Castiel loops a hand behind Dean's neck, leans in, and presses his lips to Dean's.

Dean's entire body goes simultaneously rigid and trembling, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn't want to. There's a kneejerk heavy, sickening kind of terror roiling in his stomach, but there is also a fluttering there; a zing to his nerve endings, to every inch of his skin, that is intoxicating and pleasant and at utter, full-blown war with said terror. It is impossible, in this moment, to lie to himself about what he wants. He closes his eyes, leans in, and presses his lips to Cas' in a soft touch.

...

Dean is on the city bus, miles away from the school by now, but his lips are still tingling. He brings his fingers up to touch them, brushing them against the smooth skin that, aside from the phantom tingling, feels the same as always. He smiles to himself, his heart still beating a little too fast.

He did it.

He's actually kind of proud of himself. Cas kissed him... and he didn't panic, he didn't run. He isn't even really sure how it happened. One minute Cas was standing there in front of him, all handsome and complex, and the next their lips were pressed together.

Dean remembers Cas' expression before and after, how certain he looked. How strangely calm and strong. But he also remembers the way his lips and breath trembled against his own. It was somewhat comforting to realize the boy was just as nervous, even if not telegraphing it so horribly as Dean.

Dean who remembers in mind-melting detail the feeling of their bodies stood barely inches apart, mouths slotted so nicely against one another, Cas' hand a careful weight against his neck. They had kissed. Kissed like a young couple from an old Hollywood movie on a first date, brief and innocent and full of potential. Dean kissed Cas, with his eyes closed and his fingertips holding ever so lightly at the boy's waist. And when they pulled apart, he smiled. Couldn't help it. Neither could Cas, and God wasn't that a rare treat.

They sat close together for the rest of their alone-time, Cas settling warm and easy against Dean's side, his hand not leaving Dean's, where he'd entwined their fingers. Dean indulged in rubbing the pad of his thumb absently over Cas' knuckles. He remembers it now, pressing his thumb to the rougher skin of his own hands for comparison, as he makes the long ride home, surrounded by strangers who have no idea what he's done, the monumental step he's taken.

Dean has - and it's the first time he does - a secret from his father, that he relishes.

Everything is different now. He knows what he wants.

He wants to kiss him again.

Posted quickly - hope there's not too many mistakes. Hoping more that you like it. :)