The silence stretched. Another had been bomb dropped. Both of them stared at the carpet, perched on the sides of their beds, legs hanging off, heads bowed. Like mirrors almost. Even their feet touched the carpet in similar places. Cas took a deep breath, "I was never going to tell you," he confessed. "I knew you weren't into it, so I left it alone." He looked up finally, swathed in guilt and shame, but fighting through it for a steady emotional foundation to stand on. "I used the drawings to express what I didn't want to make public to you. I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable, Dean, I swear. I'm not like that. Above anything else I might feel, I am your friend." He finished pointedly.
Dean's heart was pounding like a racehorse rounding the last stretch before the finish line, dust in his wake, and he felt dizzy. He pushed to lean back against the wall, pulling one knee to his chest so he could lean his arm on it, and put a hand on his forehead. "I know," he managed, and words had never meant more. "I know you are, Cas." He needed to say something else – relieve this weirdness coating his limbs, making him heavy and lethargic. Finally he looked up, and their eyes locked. "I took one."
"You took what?" Cas blurted, caught off-guard. He watched Dean get up, and go to his textbook, and open it, and bring the picture to him. He felt his weight as the bed sank down beside him.
"I took it." Dean explained. "I really liked it." He handed it over. "All those drawings… they were really… flattering, you know? I never thought somebody could see me like they see a celebrity. A muse."
"You don't look well, Dean-"
"I'm not, ok?" Dean interrupted. "Sorry. I'm not. I don't really know how to feel right now, it's a little tough to take in." They lapsed into an awkward silence that Dean fidgeted under. That had been an innuendo if there ever was one. "Why do you draw me?"
Cas studied the picture, sighing. "You're very strong and brave. And adventurous. I've never been any of those things. They're admirable. And… honestly, you keep yourself very well. You're handsome." He said truthfully, glancing over at him. "You're really a righteous person, Dean. I've never met anyone like you."
Dean looked at him in surprise as he handed the picture back. "I can have it?"
"It is you," Cas pointed out, and both of them laughed.
Dean got up and snatched some tape, neatly taping the picture on the wall above his bed, where he could see it when he lay down. Then he tossed the tape away and came back, taking his place beside Cas again. "Ok," he began. "Look. I'm not a judgmental kinda guy, ok? Whatever you wanna do on your watch is fine with me. Usually. As long as it ain't killin people.
"But I've never really had this before. A friend, I mean - not just, you know. And it's really tough trying to choose between being really scared and really gone." He admitted. "But I'm not scared of you, Cas. I'm scared of losing you. You are my best friend – the only one I've ever had, and you mean a lot to me. I mean geez, I hardly know you a few months and you know everything about me. Everything." He hesitated then. Not everything. But he cleared his throat and continued.
"But I will say this. I've never felt for a guy like this before. I really, really feel for you, man. I don't know what that is." He looked down at his hands. They were shaking. "But I… I really could never have anything against you, Cas. I mean that." He looked over at him, and their eyes met once more. A softer, less abrasive look passed between them, and Dean got butterflies. Like, real, flirtatious butterflies. He swallowed for the umpteenth time. Cas glanced so briefly at his lips he almost missed it.
"Dean, I would never put you in a compromising position without asking first," the dark haired boy said slowly. "But I know how all this feels. Obviously. So, I'm going to ask. Is it ok if I try something?"
"Try what?" Dean questioned, already knowing the answer.
Cas's blue eyes drank him in. "Something I wish was done to me the minute I had doubts of my own."