A/N: sorry for the long period of absence. you can expect the next chapter literally tomorrow! in like less than 12 hours or something, how mad. I hope this eases the stress and worry and boredom a lot of us are under right now. I hope you and your loved ones are also all safe!
the next chapter, by the way, will be the BIG chapter in which everything is revealed, everything is confessed, and SO MUCH is gained
thank you all so much for being so patient with me.
lots of love, enjoy xx
Chapter 58
Sunday 27th August, 2006
"Last day of summer," Dean shakes his head wistfully, looking out at the street and trees and hills behind it. They've turned a dark green in the growing shadows of twilight, the colour of murky dregs at the bottom on an ocean. The air, unusually light, drifts gently through the branches and tousles the leaves so that all around the pair, now, a symphony of rustling mingles with the sound of bugs and birds faintly on the wind.
"Before our last year of High School," Castiel nods in agreement, one part worried, one part excited; one part terrified, one part courageous. What a thing it is, he considers, for a person to make you feel both scared and brave, at the same time. He wonders if he makes Dean feel the same way. If Dean, when he looks at Castiel, ever feels the same way.
Perhaps, in it being their final year together, Castiel will be pressured into telling Dean exactly how he feels about him. Now, in a way much more tangible than it ever has been before, Castiel knows that his and Dean's time together is running out. And yet—it is, and it isn't. The years have crept, softly, and with them so has Castiel's feeling, intuition, that Dean feels toward him as Castiel feels. Is this vain? The curse of having a crush as a teenager, and the multiplier of it being a queer crush, is that there is this constant second guessing, these constant double takes: viewing and reviewing every situation of contact with said crush with passionate, hopeful, hopeless intensity. Hoping the feelings are reciprocated and yet knowing this is, though is not necessarily in, vain. Despairing that the feelings are not reciprocated and so toiling, labouring, sawing familiar flesh from familiar flesh so that the attachment does not become too great that hearts are broken irreparably by a moment of rejection.
But the problem is, Castiel is already too attached. He can't not be. Confessing his feelings for Dean could never be anything other than a leap in the dark, reaching out blindly and hoping beyond hope that all the signs and indications have not been misinterpreted.
So before they go to college—which will, almost certainly, bring them to different places, perhaps dramatically different ones—Castiel will muster up the courage and bravado to confess his love and devotion to one Dean Winchester, and do this to said Dean Winchester's face. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and all that.
"Kinda weird, huh?" Dean asks, glancing at Castiel and grinning nervously. He swivels where he sits, on the roof outside of Castiel's room, as they have increasingly sat together, over the years. Now he turns from facing the street below to facing Castiel. Always, at moments such as these, a strange and interminable look flickers into Dean's eyes, his expression stilling, his gaze steady, but his eyes dancing like trees in the wind.
"A little," Castiel nods, breathless.
"Like, we'll never be in this kind of moment, ever again. We've sat together, chilled out together, so many times, before the first day of a new year at school together. We'll never get to do that again." Dean shakes his head. "And that's so weird."
"It is," Castiel agrees thoughtfully, "although of course, there will be other vacations, this year—"
"Yeah, but at the start of a new year," Dean reiterates. "It's that idea of a—of a something new. Of being at the edge of a new unknown. Of starting down a misty path. Free falling off a cliff. We're never gonna be there again."
"Hm," Castiel hums, not sure about this.
"You disagree?" Dean grins.
Castiel chuckles.
"A little," He admits.
"Why?"
"Well, there will be lots of new unknowns, and lots of new unknowns that we face together. Even new unknowns that we'll face, primarily together, if that makes sense. As in, I don't think that this sense of companionship is ever going to go away—"
"How can you promise that?" Dean asks, looking suddenly worried and unconvinced; the easy grin from earlier has slipped off his face to be surpassed by one sorrowfully anxious. "How can you know, for sure?"
"Okay, well I can't know anything for sure," Castiel sighs, "but it has been fourteen years, Dean. That's a long time. And that doesn't just go away, even if we both get taken, for a time, to different places. For one thing, I think the bond we have is too strong for that, it literally wouldn't let us just grow apart. Maybe that's naïve of me, but that's what I believe," He says, matter-of-factly. "For another thing, the bond we have is so strong that neither of us want it to just break, and so, I assume, are willing to put in the extra mileage to stay good friends, close friends, best friends, even when we're a long way away from each other, or it's been a long time since we've seen each other. That's what I think. I think that you will put in the legwork, I think that I will put in the legwork, and I think that this is a new chapter, not the end of the story. Not even the beginning of the end of the story."
Dean's mouth twitches.
"You see it as a story?" He asks, voice quiet. Castiel smirks.
"I want to become a writer, Dean, of course I view it as a story. I view everything as a story."
"So I'm not special, huh?" Dean asks with a teasing smile. Castiel chuckles.
"I didn't say that." He pauses and shakes his head. "I didn't say that," He repeats.
"How does our story end?" Dean asks. He asks it so frankly and curiously it's as though he doesn't consider this a strange or invasive question, at all. But it clamps Castiel up; he falters, swallowing.
"I don't know," He replies, honestly. "I don't know," He shakes his head. Silence for a moment.
"How do you want it to end?" Dean asks. His voice has gone quiet. He peers intently at Castiel, who doesn't think he's ever seen so much purpose in his friend's eyes.
A frown creases at the space between Castiel's brows.
"I…" His insides are trembling in shrill, fragile movements. "I don't want it to end," He answers, honestly.
"That's not an answer," Dean shakes his head with a smirk, though he seems frustrated and put out.
"Yes it is," Castiel frowns.
"You see it as a story," Dean says, speaking slower than usual, "and all stories have ends. All stories end. Where will we be, what will we be, by the end of all of this?"
Castiel swallows. He has looked away, and doesn't even have the confidence to look up as he answers. He stares at the roof they sit on, stares at his shoes, stares at Dean's beaten and battered sneakers. Mud seems to have become a part of their fabric, now; mud from running with Castiel, playing ball with Castiel, from going on long walks with Castiel, from racing Castiel from the edge of the forest through the fields and fields to their home.
"I don't know," Castiel answers. He feels suddenly far less certain than he did, even five minutes ago, when he was hypothesising the likelihood of Dean returning his feelings if he ever had the guts to actually confess them. "How do you think it'll end?"
"I'm not the storyteller, Cas," Dean reminds, leaning back on his hands. There's a strange edge to his voice in spite of the grin that he wears, which is slightly more taut than the loose, easy-going grins that usually hang at Dean's lips. "That's you. And anyway, I asked how you wanted it to end."
"Well, how do you want it to end?" Castiel bites back, heart trembling, hands growing clammy.
Dean sighs, rocking back and looking up at the sky. His brows knot together, but he doesn't look worried. The dark curve of his bottom lip dips between his teeth.
"I wanna be old, and know that you're still right by my side," Dean says. He swallows. "I want to see all your dreams, all the little things, come true, and be there to congratulate you first on every single one."
"Good luck beating my dad to that," Castiel comments, smiling nervously, and Dean snorts.
"Okay, fair enough," He chuckles, "but I want to be at least the second person to congratulate you, after watching each of your dreams come true. Even the little things, the little things that matter to you. They'll matter to me, too. But that's just the in-between, the in-between now and the end. At the end, I want to be old, and happy, and I want you to be happy, and I want to be right by your side. You're my best friend."
Castiel can hardly breathe, much less look at Dean.
"That sounds like a good ending…" He says, voice hoarse.
"It sure is," Dean agrees. "Now tell me yours."
Castiel laughs nervously.
"I don't think I can top that, honestly." He suddenly feels as cowardly as he felt brave and optimistic, only five minutes ago.
"Try."
"Um—well—I guess for me, a happy ending would be… would be seeing my family whole, again. It'd be looking at my family, and knowing it's whole, and seeing you there, as a part of it. And knowing that you're a part of it. Because you are. And I always want you to be."
Dean smiles.
"Now, was that so hard?"
"You're seriously condescending, you know that?"
"And you're a serious loser," Dean smirks.
"So you didn't like my ending?" Castiel asks. Dean shakes his head.
"I liked your ending better than I liked mine," He replies. "Seriously," He adds, when, glancing over to his friend, he catches the look Castiel must be wearing. "…That kind of thing, that matters to you?" He asks, shifting a little.
"What?"
"Family. That matters to you?"
"Yes," Castiel nods. He swallows. "A lot."
"Me too," Dean hums, looking out across the street. "Me too." Silence for a moment, before Dean continues. "I—I kind of wish it could matter more. I don't know if that makes sense. It's hard to explain." He glances at Castiel nervously, who tries to pull a face that is both understanding and encouraging.
"Uh-huh?"
"Like, it got complicated, my family. Of course," Dean frowns, gesturing to his friend, "you know all about that. I mean, not just for me, but for you. Of course, You know what complicated, what broken looks like, better than most. But…" He sighs, and rubs his face with the palm of his right hand. "John never made things easy for me… I never… I was never allowed to be me, in front of him. I never could. So him dying—and then my mom…" Dean sighs again.
Castiel reaches out to squeeze Dean's shoulder.
"Anyway," Dean sniffs, looking up, "Being part of a family—a family that's whole—a family that's with you… I like that. I like that ending."
Castiel can do nothing but squeeze Dean's shoulder again; squeeze, and hold on tight.
"Okay," He says, breathlessly. "So that's the end of our story—but what about the in-between, like you said? How do you want this year to go?"
Dean smiles and shrugs.
"I don't know. I guess I haven't really been thinking about it."
"You've been looking back too much to be looking forward," Castiel points out, and Dean chuckles softly.
"Looks like it. But what do you mean—what do I want to happen, or what do I think will happen?"
"Think first," Castiel answers, unable to stop himself from tracing, with his gaze, the exact poppy-petal curvature of Dean's lower lip. "Then want."
Dean chuckles, leaning back.
"Okay," He nods slowly, chewing over the word. "Think… I think Tamara and Isaac are gonna break up at least once, and get back together, are gonna have three big fights in the cafeteria, and are gonna get caught making out in at least two different supply closets. I think Charlie's come top in every subject you don't come up top in—just the boring ones, so don't worry—" Castiel laughs at this, pushing Dean's shoulder shyly, "—I think Bela's gonna go vegan, or paleo, or something weird—"
"Dean, I wanted serious suggestions," Castiel complains, though his own laughter undermines it.
"You should've thought better than asking me, then," Dean winks. Castiel shakes his head, one of his rare smiles—one of the ones that are only for Dean—coiled round his lips.
"Okay, then what do you want to happen?"
"No, no, no," Dean grins, shaking his head quickly and crossing his arms, "I wanna hear what you think is gonna happen, first."
Castiel sighs.
"I don't know," He shrugs. "What you said really does seem pretty plausible."
"What a boring answer."
Castiel snorts, not looking at Dean.
"Maybe we'll get you laid," Dean grins.
"Maybe we'll get you a sense of humour," Castiel bites, rolling his eyes.
"Ouch," Dean chuckles, still grinning.
"Or some friends. Or some dignity."
"Oh wow, Cas, you're really not holding back, are you?"
"You're funny."
"And you're still a virgin," Dean says, turning more toward Castiel and leaning forward. "That's crazy."
Castiel flushes, needles prickling at his skin. The muscles in his arms constrict.
"Less crazy than hooking up with random strangers from nearby schools at house parties," He answers, strangely angry. Dean raises his hands.
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. To each their own."
Castiel huffs.
He's turned out, away from Dean to face the street, ears stinging with the force of his hot blood. He feels Dean's gaze on his face as he scowls at the road below. In his peripherals, he can make out Dean leaning closer to him, and he is given only a half-second to wonder what he is about to do, whether this is apologise again, or make a joke, before he realises, all too late what Dean has in mind.
He's pinned down, and tickled furiously before he has the time to lurch away.
"Dean—" He squirms, body twisting and coiling, but to no avail—Dean has had the advantage of surprise, and is bleeding it dry. "Dean, get off!" Castiel shouts over Dean's laughter, trying to grab hold of Dean's hands to still them, but Dean is persistent. "We're—look, we're about to fall off the roof, this isn't safe—get off—"
But Dean is laughing too much. Castiel's protests, his accusations of bullying, even his attempt to knee Dean in the groin, are all either dodged or met with laughter.
Eventually, Castiel manages to grab a hold of Dean's hands to stop them from tickling—or maybe Dean lets him. Either way, they wind up, in the darkness, Dean straddling Castiel's waist, his hands caught in his friend's.
Castiel loosens his grip the moment he realises how intense this is—which is probably several too late; he and Dean have been staring at each other, panting in the moonlight, for a while, now. But Dean doesn't move his hands out of Castiel's. He licks his lips. Castiel wonders—and can't help but dream about—what will happen next. He wonders who will be the first to speak. He wonders what they will say.
"I'm—I really am sorry, Cas," Dean says, cutting through the silent with a jagged voice that scrapes at the air roughly and uncomfortably.
Castiel blinks, nonplussed.
"What?"
"For—teasing you about being a virgin. You know…" Dean glances away uncomfortably, now, but he's still on top of Castiel, apparently too unaware to even consider moving, right now.
"Oh…" Castiel nods, still staring at Dean, the way his eyes glint in the pale light of the moon, the way the world has stilled around them, the way Dean, on top of Castiel, has become the centre of the wide universe around which it revolves. "That's—that's fine. I was being stupid." Maybe he was, but what he says next definitely is. "Maybe this year will be the year in which I have sex."
Dean glances back down at him. Castiel all but squirms—he'd meant this to be lighthearted and playful, something diffusing which would soothe the awkward mists between them, but instead what he's done is invite fogs of discomfort so thick into their conversation that they are almost palpable. He'd maybe even meant this to be a little flirty, but instead it's just about the least sexy thing Castiel can think of anyone saying, ever, in the history of civilization.
Dean stares at him a moment. The tension slides thick between them.
Then Dean laughs. Of course—a bubbling, bright, sputtering laughter which falls from his lips first in drips, then in a waterfall.
"Fuck, Cas," Dean shakes his head, sliding off Castiel. Castiel sits up. The two of them are perched closer now than they were before Dean started his tickling match. "Talk that way and I can't see you getting too lucky, not unless the recipient finds you as adorable as I do."
Castiel, red-faced, snorts lightly, bumping his shoulder against Dean. Dean leans into it.
"Fuck you," Castiel shakes his head, ducking his gaze. Dean wraps his arms around his friend.
"No, Cas, the plan is to find someone to fuck you."
"Fuck you," Castiel repeats, chuckling. Dean squeezes.
"I deserve that," He agrees. "I'm an ass."
Castiel pulls back to mess up Dean's hair. Dean doesn't even complain.
"Well, whatever happens this year," Castiel says softly, "I'm excited. And I'm excited to be spending it with you."
Dean beams.
"It'll be one to remember. You'll see. The beginning of a new chapter. Not the end of the story."
