The next few moments were not Dean's proudest. He cried in front of his professor enough to be embarrassing, and after six tissues and a scolding, he shook his hand adamantly and thanked him for everything at least five times. He even agreed to come back to talk again sometime. Then he left, striding down the hall in a blur and pressing his shoulder to the wall where his backpack was hung when he reached it. His dad. Why didn't he…? Because he didn't want to think about it, that's why. He rubbed his face and threw the last of the tissues away. He was being such a girl about this. Laughing at himself, he reached up and took down his backpack and jacket. His own man. This was going to be interesting.
Glancing up, Dean saw it had stopped raining. The sun was pushing golden fingers through the clouds, pools of light dancing along the lush green campus grass as the clouds toppled over each other to climb north. Thank goodness. He shouldered his pack and threw his jacket over his arm, walking outside. He felt… better. His conflict was sorted out and solved. His head was in order.
Now all he had to do was live it.
As he passed through the library, which was a shortcut to the stairs leading towards his dorm, he nodded to the girl behind the circular librarian counter as he passed, smiling. Finally he could breathe in his own skin. He was about to go through the sliding door when a group of rugby jocks filled it. Stepping back, he didn't get out of the way in time to avoid the knocks into his shoulder they aimed at him. He grunted and watched with a bad taste in his mouth as they strode passed him.
"Watch it, fag," came a grumble, and then they were gone.
Dean turned his back and left. He descended the staircase and crossed the street and had walked all the way to his building before he could see anything but a wave of dizziness and red. Fag? Fag. They had called him a goddamn fag. His heart rate began to calm down. It was ok. He was ok. He'd deal with them later. Right now, he felt too good to be knocked down again.
He got back into the room to find Cas taking a nap, in a t-shirt and his boxers in bed. Dean quietly shut the door behind him. He put his backpack down carefully, hung up his jacket to dry, and sank down at his desk, head in his hands. He didn't feel like he would have yesterday – shattered, torn down. Right now he was just… he was angry. Jerk-offs! Forget them. He looked over at Cas, lifting his head. The light overhead was off, but the sun coming through the window made half the room glow.
Castiel had an arm lying over his head, like a protective barrier, his dark hair pressed against the slender flesh of his underarm. His fingers curled softly into his palm as he slept. Everything about him was peaceful and perfect. His lips were parted. The collar of Cas's shirt was old and worn and loose. It hung so his collar was visible, the curve of it perfectly graceful. Dean followed it, and the curve of his throat, and the soft protrusion of his lips and nose. His eyebrows were knit together, though; almost like he was troubled in his dreams. Every now and then a hitch in his breath made it clear that he was indeed dreaming. His free hand was draped across his stomach with a hand over his rising and falling belly, and Dean wished for a moment he were that hand.
He looked so tired. Work and school were getting to him. Maybe he'd ask Sam for the car for a week, to take him to and from his job. Dean looked at his watch. He would let him sleep. At least until he had to go to dinner before work. He untied his boots and put them aside, and changed into dry jeans, hanging his wet ones up beside his jacket. For good measure he changed his wet socks as well.
Just as he was pulling a book out of his backpack to read while Cas slept, a soft noise of protest reached his ears. He looked up in surprise. Castiel had turned his head to face the wall, but the distress was obvious in the elevation of his breathing. "Dean," came the muffled noise, like a call of need. Was Cas ok? Was he sick, maybe? Dean put down his book worriedly and got up. He tip-toed over to his bedside, touching the blankets gingerly. Cas was flinching. His hands closed into fists and slid slightly, as if he were moving them in his dream. His eyebrows pinched together, a flare to his nostrils. "Dean!" He grumbled darkly. Bad dream – maybe it was even a nightmare.
"Cas," Dean whispered as he sat beside his sleeping roommate, covering the fist on Cas's belly with his own hand. "Hey, wake up. I'm right here, buddy." Nothing. Cas kept flinching, and wincing, as if he were fighting something. He hardly felt Dean's touch. Shifting, Dean lay beside him, watching his face as he dreamed. He leaned his head on his bent arm with his body against Castiel and watched him calm down. Slowly. Slowly. Then, with a large intake of breath, Cas's hand worked its way from under Dean's and planted itself in the center of his chest.
Blurry blue eyes slid open, blinking rapidly. They rolled over to Dean and the light missing from them flickered to life. "Dean," Castiel said in groggy relief, and grinned at him lop-sidedly. "Jesus."
"No, Winchester; but close." Dean teased, resting his open palm on Cas's stomach. "You ok there, cowboy?"
"That's the first time you've been there," Cas blurted, licking his lips and swallowing as he drew himself out of sleep. His hand opened over Dean's chest and rested there happily.
Dean blinked. "What do you mean?"
Castiel looked up at him, as if memorizing his face. "I… I've sometimes had dreams like this before. And when I wake up, I'm…" He flickered. "Alone." He curled his fingers in Dean's shirt. "Come here. Please."
"What, do you mean…?"
"Yes, on top of me."
"All right." Confused but obliging, Dean did as he was told, pushing one hand up Cas's shirt as he settled over him, the other around his neck. Cas lifted his head to rest against Dean's arm, his own arms encircling Dean's neck. He kissed his cheek and hugged him close.
"Jesus, that's nice," Castiel breathed, the weight of his lover over his entire body like a safety blanket after traumatic crash.
"I work out," Dean teased softly, pushing his lips into Cas's neck. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Perfectly." Cas sighed happily. "I just needed this. Thank you."
Dean felt the shape of Cas's torso in his hot hand and shut his eyes against the curve of his throat. "If you want, I can always be here when you wake up."
Castiel ran his fingers through Dean's hair and up and down his back. "Please," he replied quietly, and it was settled. The world seemed to fade away to just the two of them. Everything was quiet, and warm, and their breathing synced and their heart beats matched up and everything seemed to relax. Cas sighed. "I love you." He whispered. Turning his head, he felt Dean press a kiss to his lips that was sweeter than honey.
"I love you too," Dean replied, before kissing him again.
After a few minutes, Cas let Dean get up, and he let him put hands all over him while he stretched the sleep out of his arms and legs. He chuckled as Dean pressed a kiss to his exposed stomach when his arms lifted over his head. Dean's every touch was a note plucked on his skin like a harp, a wave burying deep into his muscle and bone, echoing a shaking melody of love into his entire body. "I almost forgot," he said as he propped himself up on both arms. "Did you talk to anyone today?" There was more worry than nag in his voice, although there was a hint of nag. But his eyes were all worry. Dean nodded, sitting on his knees over Cas's legs.
"Yeah. I'll tell you all about it in a minute." The look of confusion he received made him smile. "It went really well. But first…" He slid onto Cas's lap, crotch to crotch, making him blush. After a few days of non-stop sex, yesterday's strange cold feeling had melted. He took Cas's face in his hands and kissed him deeply. A 'he hadn't seen him in a week' kiss. Castiel drunkenly kissed him back, lost in Dean's touch. After being placated with that wake-up surprise he was up for anything.