AN: short update because it was a good breaking point and i have to ponder this next part of the story a bit before i can write much more
As always, also on ao3 as jhoom and tumblr as jhoomwrites
It should come as no surprise that he sleeps terribly. When unconsciousness finally took him under, Thomas had been relieved. But then half-formed dreams plagued him all night, leaving him tossing and turning in an effort to escape them. He wakes up at least a half dozen times within the few hours his body is willing to stay put.
He finally gives up on getting any more sleep around seven. He's groggy and irritable and it takes him a minute to even remember where he is before he digs a sweatshirt out of his duffle bag and wanders downstairs. The smell of coffee and syrup greet him, his stomach doing eager flips in anticipation.
But the low rumble of an agitated (though now familiar) voice slows him down before reaching the kitchen. He's only about six paces away when he finally starts to make out the words.
"-I'm just asking a hypothetical question, here."
A sigh. "Honestly? Yeah, I've thought about it. A lot. Didn't mean I thought it was even possible..."
A pause, his voice questioning. "Yes...? Yesterday...? Yeah, after you left...?"
A loud outburst before Dean is able to calm down and lower his voice. "You mean you fucking knew? You let me walk into this shit blind and you fucking knew-"
He's pacing now, quick, measured strides from one end of the kitchen to another. It's easy to picture him running a hand through his hair. "Well thanks for the heads up, Sammy. Real fucking helpful."
Only a short pause. "Well I guess he's a better hunter than you give him credit for. Either that or you're getting worse in your old age-"
The pacing stops abruptly. "I am not!" Barely even time for someone to have replied before an annoyed "Jerk" with surprisingly little malice behind it.
A much longer break. "No. No no no, I got this. You stay out of it for now. You just got back home, give 'em a hug and a kiss from me and just stay put. I'll call if I need anything."
Thomas thinks that'll be the end of it, but then he barely hears Dean whisper, "Do you think it could be him?"
He can't tell from Dean's reaction what the answer was. There's a short farewell followed by a deep sigh. He holds his breath until he can hear Dean puttering around the kitchen again. He waits another full three minutes after that before rounding the corner.
Dean looks up and gives him a once over from where he stands at the counter flipping pancakes. He tries not to blush at the attention. Instead, he walks past the older man to the coffee pot and pours himself a generous mug full. There's a couple of stools next to the small island and Dean gestures towards them. He tries not to be offended by the lack of eye contact.
While Dean finishes cooking, Thomas takes a seat and just breathes in the warm steam from his coffee.
"You uh..." he coughs and tries again as he puts starts plating the pancakes. "You need milk or sugar or anything?"
"I prefer it black." He takes a sip, then hesitantly adds, "Unless you have any honey."
Dean just stares at him for a moment before licking his lips. "Honey?"
"If you don't have any, it's fine-"
"No, I uh... I've got some." As he goes to the pantry and mutters something under his breath. "Hope this is alright."
He sets both the honey and a plate in front of him along with the syrup. Thomas nods in thanks and starts eating. It's been a long time time, months at least, since he's had a home cooked meal, and even something as simple as pancakes tastes divine.
Instead of sitting next to him, Dean chooses to pull the remaing stool off to the side. They're angled towards each other, but not arm to arm as they would have been. It's a relief because it gives him some breathing room, and he desperately needs the space right now just to keep his sanity. It also affords him a way to stare at Dean openly without making it too obvious.
They eat in silence. Dean stares determinedly at his food and stabs each piece with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. Thomas, for his part, spends most of his time soaking each bite in syrup and watching the other man try so hard to ignore his presence. The stiff line of Dean's back is so rigid, he's concerned he'll cramp up.
Out of no where, as the last bites start to disappear, Dean is the one to finally speak up. "So... honey?"
Thomas perks up slightly. "I try not to eat a lot of processed sugar, and honey is a great alternative when you can get it. Not exactly common fare at the places I end up eating."
A breathy little laugh, and a small, "Right." But then he looks up, finally actually looks at him, and Thomas smiles warmly. The seconds just tick by, but whatever spell they're under keeps them rooted to their seats, just staring.
It's an oddly familiar feeling.
As usual, Dean ends the moment by coughing and turning away.
They're both playing this by ear. They talk about a lot of things, but by some unspoken agreement carefully avoid discussing a game plan. Conversation instead centers on Thomas. His likes, his dislikes, his opinions on hunting. He tries to pull the same information from Dean, but he's remarkably good at re-directing.
It gets on his nerves the way Dean always just deflects with some self-deprecating statement.
"I'm really not that interesting."
"But no one wants to hear about me."
"Doesn't matter what I think."
You are interesting, I want to hear, you do matter,he wants to scream. Judging by how delicate their relationship seems to be at the moment, he manages to refrain from doing more than grating his teeth.
After another cup of coffee and an hour of talking, he notices that they have also avoided talking about his family. Perhaps "avoiding" is too strong a word. They circle around the topic, but neither brings it up. Whether it's because of Dean's lack of interest or he just genuinely doesn't think about it, Thomas makes note of it.
Another topic that won't come up is Castiel. The missing, and presumed dead, ex-angel is clearly on the forefront of their minds. Thomas is curious but doesn't have the heart to bring it up. He remembers all too well the pained look as Dean had talked about him last night.
Steadily the talking dies down and settles into that familiar, almost comfortable starring match they had started earlier. There's so much more to say, so much still left unsaid. Now just doesn't seem like the right time to go into it.
But there is something that he needs to bring up. Pretending they're on the same page without actually spelling it out is a dangerous idea. So slowly he takes a sip of his coffee (now cold) and takes a deep breath before just putting it out there.
A quiet whisper, because he's genuinely scared of hearing the answer. "Do you really think I could be Castiel?"
Dean grimaces. "I don't know, man." He rubs his knees nervously. "Maybe."
Thomas nods because honestly, what else can he do? "So... what are we going to do? About me?"
He steels himself for his heart to be broken. Obviously, it'd be easier to just send him away. Wihtout a clear understanding of why, he knows he wants to stay. But this is so obviously hard for Dean, and he couldn't possibly ask or expect him to continue with... whatever this is. Making a clean break now would probably be the best for both of them. Thomas has found out as much as Dean can really tell him, his little quest to find the Winchesters is at an end.
But it wasn't just about finding them, he reminds himself. It was about finding you-
He quickly puts an end to that train of thought before it can devastate him.
"I think," Dean starts, drawing out each words as if he's still making the decision. 'I think, maybe you should stay." Now it comes out in a rush and the slightest traces of a blush blooms on his cheeks. "If you want, I mean. For just a little while. So we can figure things out. Know for sure. It's okay if-"
"Yes."
Dean seems to relax a little. He licks his lips. "Okay then." There's no smile, but the edges of his lips perk up ever so slightly.