Chapter TwentyOne - Good Influences

Sexual tension or not, being with Cas is the most comfortable companionship (aside from Sam) that Dean has ever known. In all of his other short-lived friendships over the years and across many states, Dean had always felt that it was tense, a struggle, and he'd hated himself for it. For how difficult it was for him to open up, get close. But he doesn't feel that distance with Cas. Not anymore. And as weeks pass within that comfort, it evens out his mood at home. Or rather, it reignites some of the personality Dean had let lay dormant for so long, disappearing within himself to become only 'exhausted caretaker' and 'disappointment to his father and teachers', all remnants of his youthful spark utterly dampened by the weight of his responsibilities in lieu of anything else to distract him.

He'd all but forgotten how it felt to... feel. He hasn't been stupidly giddy or interested or intrigued by anything in so long that when being with Cas finally breaks that dampening shell away Dean feels like he's breathing, stretching, for the first time in years.

It feels strange but right to be alive again, to be Dean again.

The peace and life that his friendship with Cas brings him helps him somewhat to reconcile the different sides of himself, so that he is capable of a little more lightness. Especially at home. And though every now and again his father glances at him in concern, as though baffled by the sudden change and afraid Dean is regressing, Dean doesn't let it bother him because having some of the weight of that loneliness lifted helps him enjoy Sam a little more. He feels more like himself than he has in longer than he can remember.

The happier he is, the happier Sam seems to be. As though he's soaking up Dean's relief through osmosis. He smiles and hugs Dean hard and talks openly and incessantly about school and dinosaurs and his favorite TV shows, and there's an extra lightness to him too. It's the first time that Dean wonders if a little selfishness on his part may have benefitted them both.

School is a necessary nuisance.

Dean knows he isn't the sharpest tool in the shed. He's never been great at school, never found it easy to concentrate, and learning just doesn't come easy. He knows that means he's stupid. And he's used to people treating him as such. Not expecting much, if anything, from him.

Which is why the way that Cas talks to him utterly throws Dean off. When Cas looks at him with those sharp blue eyes, honestly expecting and quite frankly demanding a response of substance from Dean in regards to whatever they're discussing, Dean's heart beats hard in his throat.

Those first few weeks that they hung out in their private little getaway and Cas had spoken to him frankly and intelligently it had taken Dean long, dry-mouthed moments to respond. He embarrassed himself with the hesitation but even then Cas never looked impatient. Nothing in his demeanor changed, even when Dean so blatantly struggled to answer.

Now that they've talked and touched and Dean can basically call they're relationship comfortable, it strikes him as important somehow that Cas never judged him. Cas never narrowed his eyes when Dean stumbled over his words and took too long to find something to say. He merely waited, and then, miraculously, took whatever opinion Dean had formulated very sincerely. As though his thoughts mattered. As though he actually gave a shit what Dean thought. Cas still asks what Dean thinks about all kinds of things, even now, even though sometimes they touch. Maybe it shouldn't surprise Dean that Cas still talks to him even though they've moved on to more physical territory, but it does. And there's something inside him that throbs with the suspicion that somehow, Cas actually values Dean's mind. As though there's anything there worth valuing.

Before he knows what's happening, Dean starts talking back. Readily, easily. And not long after, he starts talking first.

He feels wild, opening himself up to criticism willingly. He knows Cas is smart, way smarter than him, and there's a part of him that panics every time he dares to open his mouth and reveal his own stupidity. But there's also a part of him that rejoices, that revels in the freedom, the temerity to put his thoughts out there. The little thrill of terror never really disappears, but as weeks go on, Cas never once gives validity to Dean's fear. Cas never rolls his eyes or sighs like he's tired of hearing Dean speak or talks to him like he's an idiot. Occasionally, it even feels like maybe he's surprised Cas. Like he's said something Cas would never have thought to. And that head tilt paired with the faraway look and the squint that says Cas is considering something Dean said with that massive brain makes Dean feel weirdly proud.

At the same time, it makes the apathy with which his silence is met by everyone else in his life (but Sam) that much more poignant. Now that he's beginning to realize he could be coaxed into actually having something to say, that the things he thinks are worth saying, the fact that no one else but Cas knows that about him fosters a creeping sadness in him.

Dean does a lot more studying now. It's incidental. A side effect of hanging out with Cas. The boy does what Dean considers to be an unreasonable amount of reading, and it would be a waste of time to just sit there and do nothing while Cas is studying. Dean would rather they use their time together to kiss and sit close and do a little over-the-clothes exploration. But he's too terrified to instigate it.

They do, of course, seem to get around to touching more often than not. Cas is eager in the acquisition of all knowledge, equally so for intellectual and for physical. But Cas has college applications and AP essays and a seemingly perpetually curious and hungry intellect. Dean finds it fascinating and endearing. He loves how smart Cas is, even if it sometimes makes him feel inadequate. But amazingly, for how blunt and high-brow Cas can be, he never manages to make Dean feel stupid. Cas never speaks to him as though he doesn't expect him to understand.

Cas likes the way Dean's lips move when he reads. He likes the varying looks on his face when he learns something new, finds something interesting. Cas has never before felt invested in another student's learning, but Dean makes him feel a desire to watch him succeed. He yearns for Dean to realize that he is smart, that he is worth the textbooks he's been handed, and he mourns that something has made him this way - so doubtful of his own intellect. Cas has always known that he is smart, and has been encouraged to revel in this information, to thrive on it and further his intelligence again and again. He's never imagined a life where he's told he isn't, where it is insinuated that he's dumb, that he can't and won't succeed in that respect. He can't imagine a world in which he's led to believe he is woefully inadequate in regards to his intelligence. It seems so cruel. He wonders, for the first time ever in his life, how that would have effected him.

For all the anger he has for his father, watching Dean nervously pretend like he doesn't care about learning, like he doesn't want to when it's so obvious that he does, opens up in Cas an appreciation for his father's unrelenting support of his education. His father has always reaffirmed Cas' desire to learn, assured him he is smart. Dean has helped Cas look at his father differently for the first time in a long time, and doing such pulls him from a funk of anger and self-pity that has held him in bitterness for so long.

There is a lot Cas doesn't like about his father. And rightly so. There are times he outright hates him. But remembering that the man isn't a complete monster, that he's done some things right, that maybe, just maybe, he does love Cas regardless of his perversions, is a gift of clarity that Cas doesn't know how to thank Dean for.

Getting back on the horse. (The horse being 'the act of writing every day.')

Thanks for reading.

More to come.