AN: probably won't have an update for a bit (*coughcough*fallout 4*coughcough*
as always, also on ao3 as jhoom and tumblr as jhoomwrites
Thomas keeps a reasonable distance and has his phone powered off. He doesn't think Sam suspects this, but the man is a hunter. It'll be hard to tail him long without tipping him off that he's being followed. Luckily, they head straight for the interstate and there's enough traffic for him to hide behind.
He's not even sure what he'll do when he gets wherever it is they're going. But that's something he can worry about later.
They drive for a few hours before Sam takes an exit in Kansas. Thomas has never been out this way - nothing even remotely supernatural seems to pop up within 100 miles of Kansas City, but that is undoubtedly where they're headed. Which shouldn't be surprising. Anywhere a Winchester lives is bound to be clear of ghouls, monsters and any other baddie that would be out for blood.
But didn't Sam say he lives in Colorado?
Sam surprises him again by driving right on through KC. Before he can really start to guess where they're going, he pulls off of I-70 into Lawrence. A few minutes later he finds himself in a small neighborhood filled with small single-family homes. There's not as many cars and he's just starting to worry he's becoming conspicuous when Sam pulls into a driveway.
To avoid any attention, he drives past before taking a few minutes to circle back. He parks about a block down behind a large pick-up. Although it partially obscures his view, it keeps his car almost completely hidden. It's a trade off he's willing to make.
The car is empty, which leaves Thomas nothing but the house to stare at. The yard is small but well maintained. The house is a faded brown that has seen better days, but instead of looking dilapidated it borders more on cozy. It's smaller than the house he grew up in, probably only two bedrooms instead of the four in his parents' house. It could reasonably fit Sam, his wife and his daughter.
His heart pounds in his chest at the thought, the hope that this isn't Sam's house.
He waits in his car nearly an hour. His back is starting to get stiff from sitting for so long and he's wondering what his plan is. How long should he wait? Should he maybe go in? But if Sam's family lives here, it would be such an imposition. One that would get him no closer to his ultimate goal of finding the other Winchester.
Before he can reach a decision, the front door opens. He's too far away to see clearly, but the man in the doorway is too tall to be anyone other than Sam. He's speaking with someone in the house. Thomas can see very little and obviously hears nothing of the conversation. But Sam's body language is relaxed, more at ease with this person than he was the entire time they worked their case together.
The exchange at the door is brief. Sam turns to head to his car, waving slightly. He wastes no time heading out back towards the highway. When he's finally out of sight, Thomas lets out a shaky breath.
Now what?
It takes a few moments of deliberation before he decides to go up to the house. He doesn't know who lives here, but at this point he feels he has nothing to lose. Sam has left, it would be too late to follow him at this point.
All he hears as he walks up to the house is blood pounding in his ears. His palms are starting to clam up as he finally reaches the door. He doesn't know how he expects this to go. Honestly, he doesn't even have a plan beyond introducing himself. But he's already knocked, eagerness outweighing apprehension, so it's too late anyway.
It takes a moment before he hears footsteps approaching. There's no pause, no one checking to see who's at the door. It opens suddenly and without hesitation.
"What'd, you decide to stay for dinner after all?"
Thomas is stunned for a moment by the most beautiful eyes he's ever seen - even though he feels like he has seen them before. Green, all he sees is green. He's lost, completely and utterly lost in them. It's a good thing he didn't bother planning out what he'd say, because it would have disappeared in those green depths.
Before he can gather himself and start his most likely very awkward introduction, the man before him speaks.
"Cas." It's the most broken sound he's ever heard someone make. It's as though it's been ripped from the man's chest against his will. Just one word, one syllable, but it's earth shattering nonetheless.
And then he's in the most suffocating hug he could imagine, wind nearly knocked out of him. There are fingers twisting into his hair, a cheek pressed against his own, and he can hear shaky, gasping breathes in his ear. It takes a moment for his arms to reciprocate, but when he does he shivers slightly at the warmth he feels.
He could stay like this forever.
When they finally pull away - and he has no idea how long it takes for them to do so - those green eyes meet him again. They're still within arm's reach of each other (he knows this because the man's hand lingers on his shoulder a moment, gives a final squeeze before pulling away). It's far too close but not close enough. He smiles despite himself. Looking into those eyes is like coming home.
It's a feeling he realizes now that he hasn't experienced his entire life.
"Cas." The man's voice breaks slightly, so he tries again. "Cas, is that really you?"
He can feel his smile falter. He desperately wants to say yes. To be whatever, whoever this man wants him to be. But he can't.
The answer must be easy to read, because the man's expression falls briefly into despair before he manages to smooth it into indifference. Thomas hates seeing that look, hates knowing he caused it.
Hates feeling like it's just another in a long line of disappointments he's caused this man.
"I'm sorry-"
"No, it's... it's fine." The man takes a step back. He blinks several times, the only clue that tears are trying to form in his eyes.
He desperately wants to reach out and fix whatever it is he's just broken. But right now it doesn't seem like it's his place, not quite. Instead, through the pain, through the struggle it is not to step forward and hold him, he swallows and asks, "What's your name?"
There's a slight, almost hysterical laugh. "Jesus, you show up at my door and you don't even know my name?" He won't look Thomas in the eyes anymore.
"Please," he whispers. He wants to know this much at least. If he gets sent away, he needs to at least have a name for the piece of himself that's missing.
They stare at each other for a moment. Or rather, Thomas stares whereas the older man stares at a spot somewhere below his chin and shifts uncomfortably on his feet.
"Dean. It's Dean."
The smile that lights up Thomas' face is breathtaking, stunning Dean slightly. It's not just the upward curve of his mouth, but the pure and utter delight in his eyes. "Dean." God does it feel good to know his name, the name of the man who has been in his dreams since the moment he was born. "Dean," he repeats fondly. He could say it a million more times and never be tired of it.
"Who are you?" He had expected an accusation, but he seems genuinely curious.
Dean seems curious, his heart chirps happily. Dean, I've found Dean.
His smile finally falters as he comes back to reality. That's a good question. One that used to have a simple answer, though now he's not so sure. For lack of a better answer, he gives the only one he has. "Thomas." He weakly adds, "I'm a hunter."
It doesn't taste right in his mouth. Not anymore.
They continue to stare at each other. Dean clearly has no idea to do with this information, or really, with this whole situation. His eyes keep darting up to make eye contact then back down at his feet or up at the ceiling or really just anywhere but Thomas' face.
"You, uh... you wanna come in?" One hand rubs nervously at the back of his neck, the other makes a jerky motion indicating the living room behind him.
"Yes." He licks his lips. "Yes."