Missouri took herself out of the room at the end of her tirade, leaving Dean and Cas in uncomfortable silence. They both shifted in their own space on opposite sides of the table. Dean ran his hand down his face and turned the motion into cupping and rubbing the back of his neck. Cas fiddled with the pockets of his trench coat. They both avoided each others' gaze.
"This library is much more spacious than a closet," Cas muttered, breaking the silence.
Dean grimaced, "Yeah, well I don't usually bow down to people forcing me to do things I don't want to do." Cas nodded, and the room fell back to silence. Finally, Dean turned on his heel and started out of the room. "Come on; before Dr. Phil comes back."
"Where are we going?" Cas asked as he followed.
"My room," Dean replied. "At least behind a closed door, we can pretend we talked about whatever."
"The psychic will know what we did or did not talk about," Cas countered as Dean walked into his bedroom.
"So? I'm still not going to stand around in there so she can bust back in whenever she wants and demand we talk about whatever she wants." Dean waited until Cas had cleared the doorway then closed the door. Silence settled over them again. Cas continued to gently flap the sides of his coat by way of patting his pocketed hands against the sides of his thighs. Dean crossed the room and began thumbing through his record collection. "Any preference?" he asked.
Cas joined him at the box of albums and peered around Dean's shoulder to see the titles. As soon as Dean felt the heat of Cas's body next to him, he snatched the next record he touched out of the collection and whirled to face him. "This'll do." He held the record between them in both hands, as though holding a shield. Cas didn't move; his blue eyes caught Dean's green, and Dean froze. He swallowed heavily, and he cleared his throat before speaking. "The, uh, the... player... is um." He pointed at the turntable sitting neatly on the shelf near the record box. Cas was inside Dean's personal space, though, blocking Dean from moving toward it. Cas turned his head to follow where Dean was pointing then looked back at him.
"My apologies." He moved away a few steps, allowing Dean access to the record player.
Dean slipped the vinyl from its paper jacket, set it on the platter, and placed the needle. The first notes of "Good Times Bad Times" rang out, and that was when Dean noticed the fact he had grabbed Led Zeppelin I. He let the music wash over him for probably a full minute. Zeppelin was his favorite, after all. That was better; he could relax now. He turned around to face the angel standing in the middle of his room, and his insides tightened again. Dammit.
For eight long years, he had worked so hard to hold it in, to keep it buried. Before Missouri started dredging it up, he had been able to ignore it -for the most part- and just call Cas his best friend. He had been able to pretend what he felt was platonic love, and that was good. That was enough. But now... Now what? Based on the way Missouri had talked, it sounded like Cas had something going on inside of him as well. She had told them to stop ignoring it, to sort it out. To address it. He realized he had been quiet for too long when Cas finally spoke.
"You... have a lot on your mind."
"Yeah."
Cas accepted his one word with another nod. The silence between them took over yet again, made only slightly less awkward with "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You" playing from the record. Dean sighed and took a seat at the foot of his bed. He propped his forearms on his knees, leaned forward, and worried his hands together. Cas sat down to the left of him, finally taking his hands out of his pockets and placing them on his thighs. Dean felt Cas looking at him. He looked up, and Cas hurriedly turned his face to stare forward. This was stupid. They had to come up with a safe topic and forget this whole thing.
"So do you think psychics can hear when we're yelling?"
"What?" Cas gave him a very confused expression.
"In our heads," Dean continued, anxious to have something -anything- to talk about that wasn't what Missouri had instructed of them. "We can't actually change the volume in our minds, so do you think Missouri can tell if we're yelling or whispering?"
"I... hadn't considered it. She said she cannot hear my thoughts anyhow. My mind is simply colors to her."
"Or," Dean hurried on. "Maybe it's louder or quieter based on how close we are to her. Like," he leaned sideways and back, away from Cas. "Over here, I'm whispering." He sat back up and leaned in toward Cas, pressing their shoulders together, "But up close, I'm..."
Dean trailed off as Cas turned his head to look more fully at him. Their eyes were mere inches apart, so close, Dean couldn't focus his vision. Cas lowered his chin, and that small movement was enough to make their foreheads touch. It shouldn't have been a big deal. It wasn't a big deal. Dean couldn't convince himself. His heart thudded in his chest as the color blue swam before his eyes. He let them drift shut. Though even behind his lids, he could still see Cas's gaze. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Dean allowed his head to move against Cas, feeling Cas doing the same. Their noses brushed each other. He could feel the heat of Cas's breath against his lips.
Nuzzling. They were freaking nuzzling. As the realization struck Dean, he opened his eyes and pulled back, but suddenly Cas's left hand was against his right cheek. The touch was light as had been their faces against each other. The angel wasn't holding Dean in place, but the fingertips on his face might as well have been a vice grip for all they were keeping him from moving. He searched Cas's eyes. He didn't know what he was looking for, and even if he did, he wouldn't know what to do once he found it. Cas's face was as careful as Dean hoped his own was, but his eyes... his eyes carried the weight of a thousand unspoken words. Dean stood slowly, painfully aware of Cas's hand leaving his cheek.
"Dean-"
"Cas, no." Whatever Cas had been about to say, Dean wasn't sure he could hear it right then. He headed for the door and opened it. There was a pull inside of him that wanted to look back over his shoulder, but he resisted. He was afraid of what he might see on the angel's face. Or what he might show on his own. As he walked out of the room, the lyrics followed him down the hall.
"I know, I know / I know I never never never never never gonna leave you, babe / But I got to go away from this place."
.oOo.
It was 2:37 in the morning. Everyone slept, and all the lights were off. Except for one and one. In the nook atop the metal stairs overlooking the control room, Cas sat at a table, his profile illuminated by a single lamp. Two things kept him company: the quiet tick of a clock and his own thoughts. Of the two, Cas found he preferred the clock. He was perplexed. He had spent some few years on Earth. Not even an eye blink compared to the whole of his existence, but he had learned that eight years was a respectable length of time to spend with the same people. He had worked to understand humans and how to interact with them. It had taken him a while to pick up nuances and react in such a way that befitted humankind. By now, he liked to think he had gotten quite good at it, particularly after spending his own time as a human, brief though it was.
This situation involving Dean was unlike any other, however, and he was struggling to make sense of it. His time as a human had intensified emotions as he knew them, and it was then he had truly begun to grasp and understand exactly what emotions Dean elicited from him, emotions he did not feel toward Sam. That had confused him at first. They were both his friends, so he should feel the same way toward both of them, should he not? But he learned over time that "friend" was too simple a word to be putting toward this feeling regarding Dean.
As Cas figured these things out for himself, Dean had not been acting in any way that suggested he saw him as anything but a friend. Perhaps a best friend; definitely a best friend. Dean had said as much at one point, calling Cas the best friend the brothers had ever had. Cas remembered that moment with fondness, for Dean did not often share his feelings. Friends; best friends. And Cas had learned enough of how to interact with humans to treat Dean accordingly. He had not necessarily wanted to. These emotions he carried intrigued him, and he wanted to express them, but Dean had been very adamant about simple things like personal space, so he conceded. Because respecting boundaries was what friends did for one another, and Cas was willing to accept his place as Dean's best friend.
What currently confused him was that the happenings from the evening were not what he perceived to be the actions of a friend. Cas was certain he had taken the social cues and responded appropriately. He furrowed his brow and tilted his head slightly as he once again mentally replayed each detail. Dean had made the suggestion to close themselves into a room for privacy. Dean had chosen music for "the mood," such as it were. Dean had sat down on the bed. Dean had leaned in close to him. Dean had closed his eyes when their skin touched. It all pointed to Dean feeling, well, more than a best friend. Then there was the prodding from Missouri for them to stop ignoring an unspoken connection. Cas knew by now how he felt, and according to Missouri's words and Dean's own actions, Dean seemed to feel the same way. So Cas had touched his face. It should have been the right thing to do in that moment. But then why did Dean move back and say no? Why did he walk away? Had Cas misread his behaviors?
The clock continued to tick, and Cas's thoughts continued to churn.
.oOo.
Day 3
Dean poured three fingers of bourbon into a high ball glass and set the topper back into the decanter. Driving in heavy rain was stressful enough, but add in flooded streets, and he was just glad he had gotten his Baby home and parked in the garage without hydrolocking her. The morning had been spent making plans on how to sustain the three humans in the bunker for an undetermined length of time. There would be little to no more venturing out of doors anymore. Once plans had been made, they had to be executed. Unfortunately for them, they weren't the only ones on a mad dash for all the canned goods and toilet paper in sight. A simple run had turned into an all day excursion. They had just finished cleaning up from dinner and were settling into the library to finally take the time to talk about the rain they had spent most of their day in.
"It's getting pretty bad out there," Sam mused.
"Shyeah," Dean replied. "No kidding. Now what are we gonna do about it?"
Sam rubbed at his forehead and pushed his hair back. "Well, even if it's not Chuck-" Missouri sent him a pointed glare which Sam did not miss. "-if it's not God, I still think we need to find him. I spent a few hours doing some online research about rainfall last night. I couldn't find anything of this magnitude except in Biblical lore. The only one who has done this before is God. It just stands to reason He might know what's going on, who might be copying Him."
Dean considered Sam's words with a slow nod and took a deep swig of his drink. He savored the burning as it flowed down his throat and spread through his stomach. "Then how are we gonna go about doing this? The last time we searched for Him, we never found Him. He came to us, remember?"
"Yeah, I remember. But we've learned a few things about Him since then. I think we ought to take what we've learned and apply it." Sam shrugged. "I don't know; maybe we'll come across something that'll help us find Him."
Dean stepped to the doorway and looked up to the reading nook above the control room where Cas had been sitting since Dean first saw him that morning. The angel was still staring straight ahead, unmoving. "Cas? We could use your help down here."
"I'm thinking." It was the same reply he had given before. The only thing he had said all day.
"Yeah, well you think you can join us in here and think out loud?"
"No."
Dean threw his hand up in frustration and made a face at the angel, wrinkling his nose and pushing his lips down into an exaggerated frown, letting his mouth open in a silent, mocking 'no.' Cas didn't acknowledge if he saw the gesture. Dean stalked back to the library table where Sam sat with Missouri. Judging by their faces, they had both seen his stunt. It made him defensive. "What?" he challenged.
Missouri let her eyes swing to Sam. "Sam, darlin', I just remembered that I left my pocketbook in your brother's car. There's something in it that I need. Would you be a dear?"
"Uh, sure," Sam left the room for to run the made up errand. Dean knew damn well why Missouri wanted Sam out of the room. It put his back up.
"Yes, exactly that," Missouri said as soon as Sam was out of earshot. She got up from the table and walked to Dean, pitching her voice low for just the two of them. "You're doing it again, letting yourself get worked up and distracted instead of focusing on what very well could become a worldwide tragedy."
"What are you talking about? I'm not distracted; he's not even in here for me to fight with."
"Dean Winchester, don't be dense. I know you're distracted. Not just because I saw that juvenile face you pulled over there but because I see the face you have in there." She poked him in the forehead. Dean jerked back and put a hand to where she had poked him, his brow furrowing. "I told you yesterday, and I meant it. I'm not going to discuss the rain with you until you go talk to him-" her eyes flicked to the doorway, where beyond, Cas was still sitting "-and get this resolved. Because until you do, you're both going to keep acting like children, and nothing will get done." She raised her voice. "Castiel."
"I'm thinking."
Missouri marched to the doorway so she could see the angel. Dean edged in behind her and looked up at Cas also. "You are done thinking. Get your feathered behind down these stairs. Now."
Cas blinked and slowly turned his head to face Missouri. In the next moment, he was standing directly in front of her, staring down at the shorter woman. "I said I am thinking."
Unfazed, Missouri bowed up. "And I said you are done. What's the use of goin' over the same thing over and over again anyhow?"
Cas's eyebrow twitched, "You cannot read my thoughts."
"No, but your head is like a kaleidoscope, colors turning and focusing, shifting and refocusing. And for the longest time now, it's been on repeat of the same colors, the same patterns, the same thoughts over and over again. Enough is enough, Castiel." She took him by the arm and reached for Dean's arm with her other hand, leading them to the hallway where the bedrooms were. "Now I mean it; y'all need to address this and get it out of all of our ways. It's affecting everyone, and I mean everyone. Normally, I wouldn't rush these things, but the world is running out of time for help, and neither of you two are in the right frame of mind to do that helping." She finished her speech as they stopped at the mouth of the hallway. "Go." She propelled both of them forward and turned back around at the sound of Sam returning from the parking garage. "Thank you, darlin'," Dean heard behind him as he walked to his room. "I think I'm gonna take this to my room and retire for the night."
.oOo.
At Dean's behest to choose the music himself this time, Cas rifled through Dean's record albums as though he had a clue which of them to choose. In truth, he would have had just as much luck in picking an appropriate album blindfolded. He knew nothing of the music on these records. Finally, he spied a black and yellow cover. Just like bees, he thought to himself. The word "Genesis" was written in cursive across the top. Given the global flood, it seemed fitting. He mimicked how Dean had carefully gone through the steps to use the turntable to play the music the last time they had been in his room. The first song of this album started with a tapping heartbeat of percussion and strange whining notes. He listened to it for a while, in an act of appreciating the music, just as Dean had done previously.
"Will this suffice?" Cas asked as he turned to Dean who was seated in the room's only chair. His body language was much as it had been last time they were alone. Feet spread, forearms on knees, leaned forward, hands together. Once again, his hands worked against each other signifying that Dean had to fidget in some way. Cas preferred it was his hands; when Dean fidgeted by bouncing a knee, it always ended with him jumping to his feet and walking away, usually in a bad mood. He did not want Dean to walk away.
The first lyrics of the song gave Cas pause. "I can't see you, mama / But I can hardly wait / Oh, to touch and feel you, mama / Oh, I just can't keep away." When Dean looked up from his hands to Cas's face, Cas kept his expression as still and blank as he hoped Dean needed it to be. They held each others' gaze for a long moment. Cas searched wildly in his mind for something to say, but then Dean unexpectedly threw his head back in a hearty laugh.
"I know you didn't do it on purpose, Cas. Sit your ass down," he said. The outer corners of Dean's light green eyes were wrinkled in his amused smile. Cas couldn't help but stare for a bit longer. American culture typically reserved the word "beautiful" as a feminine quality, but he had no better word for Dean's eyes. It was probably a word Dean would not welcome as a descriptor, though. Cas would keep it to himself. He took Dean's invitation to sit on the foot of the bed, centering himself rather than taking the corner nearest where Dean's chair was positioned. Being around Dean was an intricate dance he had been performing for a number of years, warring with himself over wanting to be near him but also respecting Dean's request -demand- for personal space.
"So I guess we're being forced to hide in here again," Dean stated, his smile fading. "Pretend to talk about crap she thinks she sees or hears or whatever in our heads." He waved his hand dismissively with the word "she," obviously not even wanting to say Missouri's name, and slipped it back into his other hand, drywashing them together. He stared down at them as though they were the most interesting things in the room.
"Dean, 'she' is a psychic," Cas said carefully. "She doesn't have to 'think' she sees or hears something. She knows."
Dean continued to wring his hands, but a bounce in his knee came into play as well. Cas eyed the added movement with unease; the wrong word would spring Dean to his feet, and this conversation would end. "How can she know, Cas?" Dean asked suddenly. "How can she know when I don't even know?" Dean lifted his chin and gave Cas the full weight of his eyes. His emotion-filled, beautiful, light green eyes.
The abruptness of his comment startled Cas, and the look of pain and confusion on Dean's face squeezed his heart. Without thinking, he slid to the corner of the bed and reached for Dean's hands. The gesture was too much; Dean reacted immediately. He jerked to his feet, and his hands flew down to his sides, away from Cas's comforting reach. Cas, however, was quick to respond. As soon as Dean was on his feet, so too was he, standing between Dean and the doorway. The music laughed awkwardly at them. Cas made a mental note to never again pick an album based on how similar its colors were to a bee.
"You're gonna move, or I'm gonna move you," Dean threatened, using his full height in an attempt to intimidate Cas. Cas was not intimidated. He knew he was a lot of things, but short was not one of them. Dean stood only one inch taller.
"I am not moving anywhere." His reply prompted Dean to grab his upper arms roughly and jerk him sideways. Cas stumbled and fought to kept himself upright. His hands came up behind Dean's elbows and could only grasp the fabric of his flannel shirt. They spun, Dean gaining his open path to the bedroom door to make his escape. He let go of Cas, but before he could yank his shirt from Cas's grip, Cas shot his right hand up to wrap it around the side of Dean's left shoulder. He nudged angelic power into his hold, causing Dean to hesitate. A soft, golden glow emanated from Cas as he stepped in closely and dropped his voice. "I remember the first time I touched you, Dean. It was right here," he squeezed tighter. "Just like this. You fought me then like you are now. Then, you had no idea who I was, what I was, or what I had planned for you." He pressed himself closer to Dean and lifted his chin, putting his lips a hairsbreadth from the taller man's. "Do you know what I have planned for you now?"
He heard Dean swallow, watched his eyes as his urge to either fight or fly melted away. A rawness burned in them, but he simply stood there, motionless. Knowing Dean was no stranger to hedonistic activities, Cas could almost get frustrated with how hard he was rebelling against something he so obviously wanted. He slowly, very carefully, released Dean's shirt with his left hand and raised it. His fingertips stretched out, touched, and slid gently along Dean's neck. As before, Dean closed his eyes. Cas cupped his palm against the warm skin. He felt Dean's pulse speeding under his touch. He put the slightest bit of pressure on his fingertips against the back of Dean's neck. Dean accepted the nudge and closed the tiny distance left between them. Their faces touched; their lips connected. Cas allowed his eyes to close as well and immersed himself in the sensation of touch.
It didn't start as a kiss. They stood like a Renaissance statue, pressed together, yet unmoving. The image of Michelangelo's Psyche and Cupid flashed through Cas's head: the two forever locked in an almost-embrace. So close, touching, but neither ever fully knowing the other. That was not what Cas wanted with Dean; he wanted -no, he craved- more. He opened his lips slightly, letting his bottom lip move against Dean's. He slid his right hand up from Dean's shoulder to the side of his neck to mirror the left and pressed his mouth more firmly to Dean's, coaxing a response out of him. The response came. Dean worked his lips against Cas's as well, finally -finally- giving himself over to acting without letting his thoughts get in the way.
Cas felt Dean's hands as they found his forearms. For a brief, horrible moment, Cas was afraid Dean might have been about to pull his hands away from his neck. But Dean simply held Cas's arms, almost as though he himself were afraid Cas would pull away. The kiss deepened. Dean tasted of a sip of bourbon, smoothed by a sapor that was his alone.
"It's hot, too hot for me, mama / But I can hardly wait."
Dean let his hands loosen from their grip and slide down to Cas's elbows where they let go and found Cas's sides. He pulled the angel against his body, eliminating all space between them, and encircled his arms around him.
"My eyes are burning, mama / And I can feel my body shake."
Cas lifted his arms, opening them to loop over Dean's shoulders. His left hand slid upward, curling his fingers into Dean's short hair as his right hand moved across Dean's back to his left shoulder, tightening the embrace. If Cas had his own Heaven the way humans did, he was certain this moment of perfection would be part of it.
"Don't stop, don't stop me, mama / Ooh, make the pain, make it go away / No, I won't hurt you mama / But it's getting so hard. Ohh!"
.oOo.
Tucked into a prop of pillows in the guest bed a few doors down, Missouri sat smugly with a hard cover book in her hands. Despite how long she had been lounging with it, the book was still only open to the first page. She didn't often eavesdrop on people; it was a gross misuse of her gift. Also, from rooms away, it was more of sensing emotions than actually hearing thoughts. To be fair to the boys, she had blocked out Dean. He was far easier to read than Castiel. She only focused on the swirl of colors the angel carried around him. The past few minutes had been one heck of a rainbow, but the blast of golden heat tinged with a sparkle of red -almost like a brilliant firework- made her pull back and block him out too. She smiled and started the book, "Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies..."
.oOo.
Dean and Cas lay atop the rumpled blanket on Dean's bed. The single pillow cradled Cas's head, and his shoulder cradled Dean's head. Cas's trench coat was a discarded wad on the floor. His tie hung loose, and the first two buttons of his shirt were gone. Dean's flannel shirt was also on the floor, his black t-shirt untucked from his jeans. Dean's fingertips played lightly at the lip between Cas's shirt and his exposed chest.
The kiss had progressed into the wandering of hands. Dean couldn't quite remember how the layers had started coming off. All he did know was that he had kept his touch above Cas's waistband, and the angel had followed his lead. With their hands, at least. Their bodies had been pressed very firmly against one another. They had explored each others' lips, faces, and necks with their mouths. And yes, at some point, Dean had been anxious enough to taste Cas's chest that, in his haste, he may have removed some buttons from his shirt. He wasn't sure if that was before or after Cas's hands had found their way inside his t-shirt and ran up his bare skin, sending fingers of electricity through him. It was all a blur that spun him toward a pinnacle of losing control, and that's what had slowed him, what made him pull back. He didn't want to lose control with Cas, not with his angel. So they had agreed to stop, to sit down and collect themselves. Somehow that, too, had progressed into being pressed against each other. Next thing he knew, he was laying his head on Cas's shoulder while Cas wrapped an arm around him. It was hard to admit, but it felt good.
There was much more to admit to himself, and he wasn't sure if the music playing was helping or not. Everything had happened so quickly that the record was still only on the second song, and the lyrics pierced him deeply.
"Truth is I love you / More than I wanted to / There's no point in trying to pretend."
Dean remembered the one time, not that long ago, Cas had actually said "I love you." Cas had been dying, and he had said it to Sam and Mom as well, calling them all his family. But somehow, in that moment, Dean had felt as though Cas was saying it directly to him.
"There's been no one who / Makes me feel like you do / Say we'll be together 'til the end."
How many times had they truly thought it was the end? And almost every time, Cas had been right there with him. Wasn't that love? Dean sighed deeply to himself. This had gotten complicated in a hurry. It had been much easier when he could pretend it was just friendship with maybe a little bit of lust. That was easy to ignore, yet experience taught him that lust was far harder to control once given in. And if it had, indeed, simply been lust, he wouldn't have stopped; he would have allowed himself to lose that control, allowed Cas to do, well, he could imagine things. He sighed again and burrowed tighter against Cas. He felt the edge of Cas's jaw press down against the top of his head and Cas's arm tighten slightly around him.
Dean was getting the sense Cas was walking a tightrope when it came to him. He realized now just how careful Cas had been, trying his best to not do or say anything to make Dean uncomfortable. Even now, laying like this, Cas was taking cues from him. But wait, hadn't the first domino fallen because Cas made the first move? Dean was fairly certain that's how it happened. Maybe Cas had gotten sick of his stubborn shit, and that's why his angel had kissed him. His angel; when had he started thinking of Cas like that? He waited for the notion to bother him. Did it? No, he didn't think it did. In fact, he found himself wanting to say it, to taste the words and feel them on his tongue the way he had felt Cas's mouth. My angel. He couldn't do it. But the words still felt sweet in his head.
He let himself relax more as he lay there, secure against Cas. At the pulsing opening of "Home By the Sea," Cas's free hand came up to intertwine his fingers with Dean's against his chest. If nothing else, there was one thing Dean knew for certain: if they didn't figure out this rain and the world did end in a flood, he was glad he hadn't missed this chance.
.oOo.
Chuck and Amara walked side by side along the edge of a vast lake. They looked as different as two siblings could. Amara's brown hair graced bare shoulders. Narrow straps held up her black dress, which was open in the front to reveal a wide expanse of cleavage. She looked poised, elegant. Scruffy-faced, blue-eyed, blond Chuck was dressed simply in a grey t-shirt and dark green hoodie with faded jeans a size too big kept in place by a plain leather belt. Amara held herself upright, shoulders back, with impeccable posture. Chuck's shoulders were hunched forward slightly, hands buried in His hoodie pockets.
Smooth pebbles shifted with a soft, scraping sound under each of their footsteps. The water's edge lapped gently next to them, churning tiny amounts of foam between the pebbles as it reached forward and drew back. Brilliant orange streaks from the sun setting into the golden hour shimmered against the water and made the siblings glow.
"It's so quiet," Amara mused, pausing her steps to listen. There was nothing to hear aside from the breeze, dancing through leaves in nearby foliage and the sigh of the water as it curled around the pebbles on the shore.
"Yeah," Chuck agreed, stopping with her. "These first few stages aren't much louder than the void. It's what comes next that starts the noise."
"What comes next?" she asked, fixing Him with round, brown eyes. "What will be tomorrow's stage?"
Chuck reveled in His sister's eagerness to create. "Beasts."