2016's Dean POV

Sometimes, when Dad would go off on hunts, leaving us in a motel room for days at a time, I would sneak out after Sammy had gone to sleep to play arcade games. Not the most responsible babysitting—and I'd feel guilty as hell afterward—but still… I just needed to breathe air that hadn't been recycled through my own lungs a million times already—to look at something other than the color taupe.

I felt almost like a normal kid there—even if I was a kid with a lockpicking set, ready to break into the change collector if I got the chance. It was nice—leaving my name on virtual scoreboards even if we weren't in town long enough to get enrolled in school—even if I knew Dad was the one really making a difference by ganking whatever hell-bitch brought us there in the first place.

A lot of times I played to my strengths—the shooter games, the racers—but for a while there, I got obsessed with pinball. For one thing, you could often play for an hour on a single quarter without having another kid breathe on your neck waiting for their turn.

And—whatever—it was fun—distracting whenever there was shit that I didn't want to think about.

But, if I played long enough, there always came a time when the ball would head for one of the outlanes—the pathways on the outer edge of the obstacle course that bypassed the flappers altogether. Nothing you could do but watch the ball drop out of play—even though I tended to punch the hell out of the flappers anyway just out of principle.

It wasn't a great feeling then—waiting, useless, for the screen to flash "Game Over"—and it's not a great feeling now.

If Cas had told me any other way, it would be different. I could have said his jokes were getting better. I could have mentioned he was important to me and Sam too. I could have run away only to tell him to Forget about it, OK? when I saw him next. Only, let's be real…in that scenario, I might have avoided him for days until I was sure he wouldn't bring it up again.

It's kind of hard to pull any of that crap when the dude let me inside his head—where everything was just laid out in the open. By not hiding anything, he gave me no place to hide either. Because, yeah, I can be a dick—and there are times when I've genuinely believed angels just can't feel things the way humans do. But there is no way I could see what I just saw and pretend that he doesn't… well, actually fuckin' love me.

That stupid son of a bitch.

Like I get that he does reckless things a lot—places his trust in douchebags who are just gonna screw him over—but this… is messed up is what it is.

Everyone—everyone I've ever cared about—gets burned. Lisa got kidnapped. Dad sold his soul to hell. Sam lost his whole perfect life in California. Doesn't he get that?

Of course, he does. Because Cas has been with me for most of that crap—literally followed me through Hell and back. He's already given up his family for me. Died. Lost his grace. Been tortured. Been kicked out.

Goddamn, maybe the other angels weren't completely off base when they said he was built wrong. Because no one puts up with all that and wants to stick around.

I thought that was part of why he left—when he went back to Heaven after Sam jumped into the Pit—because he wanted to go back to the brothers and sisters that I had taken from him. And I couldn't blame him for that. People leave me all the time once they realize that I'm a walking hex bag.

Only it turns out he didn't really leave after all. He just stalked my backyard like a creep.

Which brings me to the other fucked up part of all of this. Because, you know, I might have done a bit of creepy stalking Sam myself when he was at Stanford just to make sure that the kid was OK—but I didn't… you know, get all butterfly tingly about it. But when Cas looked at past me…

There's checking in on someone and then there's checking them out and I'm pretty sure Cas was doing both.

I wish I could go back to ten minutes ago when I didn't know any of this…except…. Except that this sinking pinball feeling didn't start when Cas sucked me into the memory of my old backyard.

Maybe, it was the whole Uriel memory that triggered it—or Sam bringing up shit at the bar last week—or who knows, maybe it was back when Cas broke out of a brainwashing trance and wouldn't explain how he did it—but it was there. The knowledge that that ball was gonna drop someday.

"Dean, I-" Cas starts, and I realize I've just been standing there frozen—for thirty seconds or thirty minutes, I don't know.

I open my mouth and he abruptly shuts his, but I let out a breath instead of words. It would help if Cas's eyes weren't so fuckin' blue right now.

Eventually, the angel huffs at my continued silence, and it's almost enough to make me smile. Because, yeah, he wants me, but I obviously annoy the shit out of him, too—which is just safer ground for everyone.

And then, because he's goddamn brave, he juts his chin up and asks, "Can you tell me if you're angry at least?"

I'm a lot of things that I don't have names for—but, no, "I'm not pissed," I promise him, rocking back on my heels.

Cas's shoulders relax slightly, helping to unwrinkle the baggy trench coat, and some of the tenseness in my own shoulders dissipates a little in response.

"I'm not gonna lie—I feel a little weird about—" I clear my throat. "But it's fine—I mean, as long as you're fine… that I know."

Cas quirks his head to the side and I wonder if he does that even when he's the size of a Chrysler building since it seems so inherent to who he is. "You're taking the fact that I have feelings for you much better than I anticipated."

And OK, I should have expected Cas to be blunt about this once his secret was out—but that doesn't mean I don't slightly choke on my own tongue when he just blurts out shit.

"Yeah, well," I mutter when I can breathe again. "I've never judged anyone else for having the hots for me before. Why start now?"

Cas nods, slowly, understanding at least a part of what I'm not saying. I stuff my hands in the pockets of my robe again.

It's probably close to seven in the morning now—dust motes swirling warmly in the light coming off the wall sconces—meaning, "People are gonna start getting up soon," I tell the angel, and I don't want to be standing here awkwardly when they do.

Cas hums in agreement. "I've been keeping you from your breakfast pie for a while now," he says, stepping to the side as if to let me pass even though the room is large enough I definitely could have just gone around him.

Which is why it probably surprises himself and me when I squeeze his arm in passing. "Come on, I'll make you coffee."

"Oh, I…." He scans me curiously and maybe I'm still in shock or something because it doesn't freak me out like it probably should now that I know what some of those looks mean. "I'd appreciate that," Cas murmurs softly before walking side-by-side with me to the kitchen.