Castiel is sure of one thing: Dean Winchester is going to kill him. Not the way his lungs are going to kill him, but the way Cas loses his breath whenever Dean steals a kiss is definitely, definitely doing something.
Cas is sure of another thing: he didn't move this much before Dean. Sure, he paced his room, he went on walks, but this was different. He twiddles his pens, doodles in the margins of his books- even his teachers ask him if he's feeling quite alright- he tears the corners of his notebook off just to give his hands something to do.
Of course, Castiel knows what he really wants to do is touch Dean. To run his hands through Dean's short hair, down his chest and a few other places, and touch him like he hasn't been allowed to before. Castiel wants to fall to his knees and pray to the altar of Dean Winchester's body. Claps his hands around Dean like he's clutching a rosary, whispering prayers into Dean's freckled skin.
Dean right now is sprawled over Cas' bed, his shirt discarded somewhere (false, it's halfway under Cas' bed, right next to where Cas carved his own name, and Cas knows because Dean stripped it off as soon as they got into the room.) flipping idly through Samandriel's copy of Slaughterhouse Five. Cas sits cross-legged at Dean's knee, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of Dean's thigh.
"You've seriously never read this one?" Dean asks, not looking up. As he heads, Dean's eyelashes leave long shadows on his cheeks.
"I never found it in me."
"Can I take it, then?" Dean looks up when he asks, eyes gentle but pleading.
"Of course."
Dean closes the book with one finger in it, and gives Cas a kiss. Cas smiles.
"Thanks. Man, Sammy's gonna be so proud of me. Actually reading somethin'." Dean says. He takes his free hand and finds Cas' fingers, twining them together.
"Dean, would you like to meet Adra?" Cas asks suddenly.
"Uh. I've already met her, dude."
Cas huffs, mostly at himself.
"No, I meant meet her as my boyfriend."
Dean falters. He looks at their hands, sitting together on his leg.
"Y-yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."
Cas stops in the hall bathroom to get his inhaler. Re-shirted Dean goes down to the kitchen without waiting, giving him a moment alone with Adra. Their voices float up the stairs; Cas hears his name.
"Mother." He calls, descending the stairs with one hand white knuckling the railing.
"Yes, dear?" Adra says.
"Don't start without me." He must've sounded tired, because Adra's face appears at the bottom of the stairs, lips pursed and arms crossed.
The kitchen lights are fading in the evening, and the chandelier giving off fluorescent light is up up up high. Adra and Dean both mirror's Cas' small steps into the kitchen, holding an elbow out for him should he need it.
"Mother…" Cas starts, then stops to take a puff of his inhaler, then another. He leans on Dean's open arm. His lungs open, the cool, sticky medicine pumping through him. "Dean and I are dating."
Adra takes a moment, looking from her son to Dean on the left flank, as if seeing him for the first time. Her eyes linger on the points of contact between them, with Castiel loathes to admit is shoulder, elbow, and hip.
"I know I haven't…" Adra sighs. She looks from Dean to her son. "I haven't been the best mother. I haven't been there for you, you know, in the real way." She screws up her face, something between a wince and a scowl. Castiel can only guess at whom. "If this is what you want to do, then I won't be the one to stop you."
"Mother…" Cas says. He doesn't finish his thought.
Dean looks at him. He really looks at Castiel, with wide green eyes and an open mouth. He looks like Castiel is an angel, or more, like Castiel is God Himself. Adra looks at Castiel, with eyes sunk into her head like a dug, waiting grave. Her smile is tight-lipped, but there.
"I'm just saying, if you're forcing me to wear a monkey suit, I at least deserve to know why!" Sam whines, tugging at the collar of his crisp, thrifted white shirt. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail and he has a thick, purple scarf piled in his lap. "Also, will you ever fix your fucking car?"
"Language." Dean clips. He drums the steering wheel with his hands, a bead of sweat sliding down his neck.
Cas straightens up, trying to tuck his shirt— also white but from a regular department store, deeper into the wide waistband of his pants. They had fit a handful of months ago when he bought them.
He swallows the unpleasant thought and looks at Sam, grimaces in solidarity. Dean insisted he stay the night last night, despite Cas having an appointment that afternoon and wanting nothing more than the warmth of his own bed. Dean even helped Cas pack a bag, although Cas now suspects it was less out of goodwill and more out of Dean's cunning plan to get them all into, as Sam called them, monkey suits. Dean woke both Sam and him up as the sun was coming up, with coffee and burnt eggs, saying they had to look their absolute best for today. Mr. Winchester had said something to Dean over coffee that Castiel couldn't hear, and it put Dean in a bad mood for all of five minutes, until he was reminded what today was.
Today, as it's turning out, means being in Dean's boiling car with a staticky radio and Sam complaining every chance he gets, all while Dean says little more than two words and looks in his rearview much more than is strictly necessary.
Cas tries not to grimace when Dean looks at him. His chest is on fire, his throat is tight. He is sweating under his arms and freezing on his fingertips. He seriously, sincerely, wants to kill his boyfriend, and then take a long nap.
"How much looonger, Deeean?" Sam asks.
"We'll never get there if you don't shut up and let me drive." Dean says. "Shit. Uh. We just passed Swan Song Avenue, so we should be looking for a big building on our right. Private school somethin'. Keep an eye out, Sammy, Cas."
Cas is the one who spots it after another minute of driving: a tall, brick building with a white awning and several thick pillars holding it up. Indeed, on the side, Isaiah Institute. There are a handful of people mulling around the entrance, some smoking, some not, all dressed in similar suits or dark dresses of varying length.
One of the women is short, of larger build, with dirty blonde hair in a bun that's falling out. She has on a black jacket and a green button-up vest, in one of the pockets rests a cigarette box. She's holding a cigarette between two fingers, puffing impatiently. An angry, hungry feeling gnaws in Cas' stomach.
"Is that Ellen?" Sam asks, squinting.
Oh. Cas looks closer at the woman as they drive by. Indeed, it is Ellen. Dean gives her a wave, then wheels the car into a parking space. She makes her way over, swallowing smoke until it's down to the orange.
"You made it." She says, smiling at all of them. It falters when she sees Cas, but she pulls him into a too-tight hug anyway. "Good to see you, kid. Jo'll be thrilled too."
"Jo?" Cas asks, cocking his head to the side. Of course, if Ellen was here, Jo couldn't be far behind. Cas can't remember a time he'd seen Ellen in anything but jeans and an old flannel, so this must mean... Of course. Cas gasps when he realizes. "This is her piano recital." He says.
"Ch'yeah it is. She's not too keen on most people knowing, but she wanted you guys to come." Ellen's eyes sparkle. "Ash, too, but he had a thing."
"What else is family for if they can't know your embarrassing secrets?" Dean snarks. Ellen laughs, an open, full-body thing.
"You got that right. Come on, it's starting."
They have seats near the front. Initially, Sam is in the aisle seat next to Dean, but he trades as soon as Cas suggests it. Cas has two inhalers tucked into his pockets, and if he needs to make a quick getaway he should be on the aisle to do it.
"Like a Bond villain." Sam says, nodding in approval.
Cas doesn't think that's right, but he honestly isn't sure.
The lights drop, and all conversation hushes.
Jo, as it turns out, is the third act, not the first. The first is a large woman in a suit similar to Ellen's, playing a flute duet with a much smaller pianist in plain, concert black. It's a lovely piece, and Cas is so enraptured he almost forgets to clap at the end.
There's a moment of shuffle between the first act and the second. Cas steps out, and into the men's bathroom down the hall. He doesn't have long. He feels for the inhaler in his pocket, the blue one, and takes a puff. Then the green. In the mirror, his hair is lost the battle with the gel he tried to glob onto it this morning, with one clump sticking up like a ducktail or a low-budget anime protagonist. His cheeks have hollowed. His eyes are his mother's.
His phone buzzes in his pocket.
Hurry!
He runs back. The solid wood doors are closed, and an attendant stands to the side. They're dark doors with curved patterns cut into them, and a shiny brass handle. When Cas hears clapping, he pulls the door. It's heavy.
Jo comes on stage as he slides back into his seat. Even so close to the stage, Cas has to do a double take. Her hair is pinned in tight curls, stuck together with a blue netted thing with beads dangling from it. She has on a dress that's shimmering blue, off the shoulder, and short white gloves that she sets out the sheet music with. Then, she plays.
It starts slow, a one-handed melody almost like a scale with a few extras thrown in. Then it builds, bringing both her gloved hands onto the keys. Up and down, fluttering, flying over the piano. All the while her face is set in a concentrated frown, her dark eyebrows tight, but her shoulders relaxed. The song makes Castiel think of children, running in a garden of a big stone house, screeching in laughter, as they are eventually caught in the rain. They're not discouraged, though, they only laugh harder and kick the mud up around their knees.
If Castiel has children, he thinks, he would like them to be like this song. Carefree, unafraid of rain.
The song continues, with several thunder cracks and the children shuffling inside, their mother scolding them but wrapping them tight in towels. They splash each other in the bath that follows, and splash, and splash, and screech again in laughter. The song ends with their mother looking at them fondly, as she drips bathwater from her brow.
It is raining on Castiel's face when the song ends.
He throws himself up to a standing ovation. Others stand as well. Dean whistles. Jo beams, and flushes when she catches Cas' eye. Then she bows, and exits.
The rest of the performances are wonderful. One man sings a solo from a French opera that Castiel saw one time in France. This man did a much better job than the scrawny white man they'd chosen for the part. Cas spots him in the crowd while they're waiting for Jo, and tells him such.
"Oh dude, really? That means so much to me, thank you. You know, I almost didn't perform it this year, 'cause my grandmomma's in the crowd and she's a harsh critic. She didn't think anyone would want to see a Black man singin' a white man's song, you know, I thought I didn't want to disappoint her, but, you, you really made my day, do you mind if I tell my grandmomma what you said? What'd you say your name was?"
"I didn't. It's Castiel." Cas says. The man smiles. "I always pictured your character as Black, especially with the symbolism in the bank scene."
"The bank scene? With his girlfriend? I always thought so." The man agrees, nodding. "Wait, Castiel. Like the angel? Tight, man. I'm Ru. Well, Rupert, but everyone calls me Ru."
They shake hands. Ru's is warm and smooth.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ru."
Someone calls for Ru, an old woman with long white-grey dreadlocks. Ru gives Cas a quick, one-arm hug and goes to his grandmother. They talk for a minute and Grandmomma gives Cas a smile.
Cas reconvenes with his group, and grabs for Dean's hand. They collected Jo and presented her with two different bouquets while Cas was gone. Her eyes are shining.
"I saw your waterworks, Cas. I didn't know you had a leak." She says, laughing and sniffling at the same time.
"I didn't either." Cas says. "I am a faucet, I guess." They all laugh.
"Thank you for coming. Seriously." Jo says, smiling at her bouquets and then the floor.
"Can I hug you?" Cas asks.
"Uh. Yeah. Yes." Jo falters, then lifts her eyes and arms. The flowers follow in her right hand. Her hug is firm, clasping around Cas' shoulders and into his spine. She smells like soap and a memory of perfume.
They finish their hug and Cas' eyes are wet again. He takes Jo's free hand.
"You did spectacular." He insists.
"Okay, okay." Ellen says, "I think we've spoiled Jo enough." She fishes a cigarette out of her pocket and tucks it behind her ear. Jo's shoulders drop. Castiel hadn't realized they were so tight. Oops. "This is cause for celebration! Burgers and fries, on me!"
Dean cheers.