"If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know," Cas reads, while Dean rests with his hands behind his head, eyes closed, just listening to Cas's voice.
"I sort of feel like we've got this one covered, Dude," Dean replies, lazily. "You probably know me better than I know myself by now."
"That's likely. You don't see yourself very clearly."
"Yeah, yeah," Dean says, dismissively, hoping to cut Cas off from saying something sappy. "And I know you well enough to guess you're doing that little frowny thing between your eyebrows, so I say we go on to the next question."
Cas grumbles, but makes an effort to find his place again. "If you knew that in one year, you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are living now? Why?"
"Ha! I've already made that deal," Dean points out. "And it didn't change me all that much. Sure, I tried the whole 'live every day like it's your last' thing—but it wasn't all it's cracked up to be. Even pie doesn't taste as good when you know your days of eating pie are numbered.
"Since then, I've died enough, it's not really a motivating factor for changing my ways." He turns his head in Cas's direction, still with his eyes shut. "Anyway, what about you? You've never had time to plan your death before. You just usually—explode into goo."
Cas makes a tutting sound to let Dean know he doesn't particularly appreciate the visual.
"What?" he asks, innocently. "It's the truth! Chuck even got some you goo in his hair the first time."
"Now that I know his identity, I wonder if I should be grateful that he brought me back or angry that he let me die in the first place."
"From my experience with dads, the answer is always both."
"You're probably right," Cas lets out a long sigh.
"I suppose if I had one year left as an angel, I would spend time healing as many people I could. After all, disease is its own kind of monster and those who fight it day in and day out sometimes have a tougher job than we do. If I gave up my grace …I would still want to help people, but I'd perhaps indulge in a few more human experiences."
"Yeah? What would those be?" Dean asks with a slight smirk.
"I don't know. Sam could probably help me find lists of activities on the internet. I've heard skydiving is something people do when they fear imminent demise…" Cas's voice trails off like a piano at the end of a song. "Dean, are you…pouting?"
"Yes!" Dean shouts only to realize that he meant to say "No!"
He feels the angel lean closer to him and he instinctively presses his head as far back into the pillow as it will go to get away from the scrutiny.
"I…don't understand," Cas admits, breath ghosting over his face. "Why are you upset?"
"Guess I just figured I would rate somewhere on your 'to do' list…," he grumbles. "And yes, Cas, that was an innuendo," he adds, rolling his eyes behind closed lids.
Dean tries not to squirm in the sudden silence. When Cas does talk, he starts off slowly. "A few hours ago, you were concerned that everything I did or said was going to be colored by my affections for you. But now, you're upset because I chose not to make an explicit comment…? Explain."
"It's stupid. Let's just move on to the next question."
And yeah, he must know Cas pretty well, because he can feel how tight with tension the angel's jaw is where it still hovers a few inches away.
"Fine," Cas says, which does surprise him. "The next question is, 'Share a personal problem and ask your partner's advice on how he or she might handle it.'
"My problem is that the whole point of this is to discuss our issues rather than letting harmful misunderstandings fester—and you won't tell me what's bothering you. So, how do you propose I get you to talk?"
Dean cracks his eyes open to snatch at the phone. "It does not—OK, it does say that."
"Yes—and I'll remind you that as stubborn as you are, I am a celestial being. I will wait you out."
"Bossy. Have you always been this bossy?"
Cas puts on a very familiar glare—the one that accompanied, "I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in"—and deadpans "Yes."
Dean feels a slight shiver go up his spine. "I don't know, Man," he admits. "I'm not ready for you to, like, put the moves on me, OK? But I'll admit, it's kinda nice to feel…wanted…or whatever."
"Dean, people desire you all the time. They tend to be very obvious about it."
"Well, who can blame them? I've got a nice ass."
"Dean."
"What do you expect me to say, Cas? That it makes a difference because it's you? You should know that."
When Dean speaks next, his words are quieter to hide any warbling-weirdness that might be going on in his throat. "With most people, it's easy to tell they're into me physically because that's all they're into—but you—you're my best friend—and an angel. I know you care about me—and that you like hanging out…. It's that other stuff I can't wrap my head around. Part of me still wonders if I just ate something weird and I'm hallucinating all this.
"So even if it's confusing and it makes me think about things I never really wanted to think about, I gotta know that I'm hearing you right—before I—" He's gonna shut up now is what he's going to fuckin' do.
"And my earlier flirtations today have not been enough to convince you?" Cas asks with a touch of concern, seemingly genuinely confused. "Have I been doing it wrong?"
"What? No! You've been, uh, doing great." And isn't that the most wince-worthy thing he's ever said?
"So, you're just being insecure then."
Dean keeps his mouth resolutely shut.
"Dean," Cas grumbles with squared shoulders. "I'm under a truth spell. I can in no way lie about the nature of my interest in you…. But maybe you're correct in saying that I'm not as besotted with your physical appearance as the people you are usually intimate with. It's not like I've gotten a chance to 'compare notes' with them so to speak-"
And isn't that one of the most terrifying mental images that has ever popped into Dean's head?
"Ultimately, I think I would probably feel the same about you no matter what form you were born in—whether you were female or looked more like Sam or were not traditionally aesthetically pleasing."
No, that is the worst mental image Dean's ever been presented with. "You're telling me you would bone Sam?" he interrupts. "I think I'm going to throw up in my mouth a little bit."
Cas huffs in a way that sounds annoyed, like a tea kettle that really wants you to know it's about to blow—except about ten octaves lower. "Do you purposefully misinterpret what I say or are you genuinely that pessimistic?" he demands. Then a hand is on Dean's chin, tilting his head forward. "Dean, look at me."
He does—trying to look as annoyed as possible.
"Just from the response of women we encounter on cases, I can deduce that Sam is a very handsome man. But you know that I have never looked at him that way. He treats me like a brother and so do I. You are also very good looking, but part of what makes you so to me is that I can see your soul in your eyes… Your attitude is very apparent just in the way you hold yourself….
"And because it's you, I do indulge in some more covetous looks and thoughts than I would with anyone else." Cas frowns at him. "Let me be clearer. Yes, I can be aroused by you. Yes, I have been aroused by you. You should also wear green more often. Does that help?"
Dean's pretty sure the flush in his face extends all the way down to his chest. But he works to put on a serious expression. "Dude," he says, earnestly. "You can't just say shit like that."
And yeah, Cas groans just like he thought he would, rubbing at his temples with his hands. "I wish that it was possible to hate you right now."
