AN: there'll probably be one? maybe two more updates before the holidays, when i won't really have any spare time to write. i'm pretty settled into this weekly updating though, so once the new year starts i'll probably fall back into it (unless another project distracts me).
also fair warning that the rating will have to go up in the next update or two.
as always, also on ao3 as jhoom and tumblr as jhoomwrites
Thomas more or less moves in. Not that it takes a lot of time - he has maybe two duffle bags worth of possessions, not counting the weapons and books he keeps in the trunk of his car. Even so, the guest room makes him feel more at home than he can remember feeling in years.
When he first drives his car into the driveway, he can see Dean making a face. It turns out there's something wrong with the muffler, which later reveals a problem with the spark plugs. Then it's an oil change and air filters, a tire rotation and a good polish. Dean expertly walks Thomas through the repairs and maintenance. Often they fall into a companionable silence once they each know their part.
Once they're done with Thomas' car, Dean lets him help with his.
The Impala is as beautiful as he had imagined, which is something considering he shouldn't have been able to imagine it all. But once he sees it, he knows he knows it. Just like Dean's called to him all his life, this car means something. And he's extremely pleased to know Dean trusts him enough to work on it with him.
Dean actually works as a mechanic, as it turns out. There's a shop a few miles down the highway where he works a few days a week. Thomas visits a couple times to observe, but ends up spending a lot of time in town while Dean works. He's lived on his own since college and doesn't mind it now. But he does find it strange how few hours Dean seems to work.
When Thomas mentions this, Dean mutters something about pool and poker.
They watch tv and movies together. He always lets Dean lead when it comes to picking what to watch and has yet to be disappointed. No, the disappointment seems to be all Dean's. It's not expressly stated, but each time he picks something, he carefully watches Thomas' face to guage his reaction. If Thomas has never seen it before, his eyes light up briefly. If he has seen it before, well- there's nothing really obvious to give away his annoyance, but it's there all the same.
And then there's the cooking. Thomas lights up in excitement when he learns Dean likes to cook. None of his meals are particularly extravagent and not much more exotic than you'd find at a typical diner or american restaurant. Yet everything tastes great. They take turns cooking for each other.
Dean grins for a whole two days after Thomas bakes him a particularly good apple pie.
There's no talk of hunting, not for nearly three weeks. It's on the back of their minds (or Thomas', at least) the whole time. There's an itch to be out there, working some new case, that he won't be able to ignore much longer. He's just not sure how to bring it up because he's worried, frankly, that Dean will misunderstand why he misses it. So for now he says nothing and just keeps an eye out for a nearby case.
It puts him ill at ease to think about how much he likes the little domestic life they've fallen into. Not because it doesn't suit him. No. It's because he has this feeling, this worry in the pit of his stomach, that every time he's gotten something like this it's been snatched away from him.
Days are easy, nights are hard.
The longing he felt from Dean when he'd first arrived has decreased to managable levels. Some nights it's not even really there. The sharpness and urgency has long since given way to a mild undercurrent always there, but never demanding.
No, that's not what keeps him up until the dead of night. The problem is when he's alone in his room without even the distraction of crickets or cars driving past outside, he actually has time to think.
Sometimes, he lets himself think he might be Cas. It would make things easier, explain so much. He knows Dean too well for anything else to make sense. And it would end Dean's misery of not knowing what happened to his best friend. Yes, it would certainly be the easy answer.
But something about admitting he's someone else... it terrifies him. He doesn't want to give up being Thomas. He is Thomas. He doesn't want to lose that in the wake of Castiel.
Thomas might be small and young and boring and human, but it's all he has.
The days blur together such that September 18th would have come and passed without Thomas even knowing. At least, it would have if he were still out on the road.
Dean's moody all day and won't really talk to him. He doesn't push, though there's a slight fear that the end is coming. He's going to be kicked out because he's not Cas. But he doesn't say anything. Just keeps moving about with a nervous energy, fidgeting and scratching his left shoulder over and over.
At around five Dean mutters some thing about going out for a drink and disappears. Normally Thomas might have been a little miffed by not being invited along, but after a day of dealing with Dean's strange behavior, he's actually a little relieved. He enjoys a quiet evening reading and then yells at a reality tv show before going to bed early.
He's not sure what wakes him up.
He's disoriented, his breathing labored and mind whirling in confusion. It takes him a moment to realize he's fallen out of his bed with his legs tangled in his sheets. The pain in his chest he realizes is that strange longing that ebbed in recent weeks, now razor sharp. He keeps gasping and makes an effort to even out his breathing when he hears a crash from the other room.
Maybe he would've been more cautious had he been more awake, but he's immediately up and rushing into Dean's room. He doesn't even bring a weapon with him. The door's slightly ajar and easily gives way.
Dean's a mess. He's twisted in his sheets, face contorted in pain. Occasionally a grunt or a whisper, but mostly it's just his breathing, heavy and ragged, that fills the empty air. The broken glass on the floor by the bed and the alarm clock hanging precariously by its cord suggest that he's been thrashing out.
His head is ringing from the longing in his chest, but Thomas manages to force his focus on Dean. He makes his way to the bed, putting one knee on the edge and wondering how best to wake him up from whatever nightmare he's fighting. Slowly, he reaches down to gently shake Dean's left shoulder.
Even through the sleeve of his t-shirt, his skin feels like it's on fire, like an electric current is passing through him. Dean jolts away at the contact with a strangled scream but doesn't otherwise react.
Thomas wavers for a moment in dread before placing his hand on Dean's waist. The skin's not as hot here, not at all, and though it puzzles him slightly, he takes advantage of it by firmly shaking Dean.
"Dean," he half-whispers. "You're having a nightmare. Wake up."
No response.
He tries a few more times with no better luck.
Sighing in frustration, he's about to shake him harder when he catches sight of what's on the nightstand. An empty beer bottle and a container of ambien.
Great. The liklihood of waking Dean up appearing to be minimal, he decides to switch tactics. If he can't wake up him, the best he can do is try to comfort him. How can he do that?
Memories of nightmares and thunder storms chasing him into his parents' room late at night give him an idea. Slowly, he shifts so that he's sitting on the bed behind Dean and begins rubbing soothing circles on his back. It takes a while before he seems to give in and relax. His breathing evens out and the thrashing stops. Even the ache in his chest seems to lessen.
The couple times Thomas stops in the hopes of going back to his room, he's met almost immediately with a groan and a jerky attempt to follow his retreating hand.
Eventually, he ends up falling asleep.
His own dreams aren't much better. They're a mess, pictures and faces that are impossible to make out. Each image blurs together with the next. A line of never ending memories and words he swears he's heard before.
I'm not leaving here without you.
I'd rather have you, cursed or not.
I prayed to you, Cas. Every night.
We're family. We need you. I need you.
Don't ever change.
Don't ever change...
He wakes up in a cold sweat, completely unrested. He can't quite seem to place where he is (and there's a terrifying moment when he's not completely sure who he is). Gradually, the steady breathing of a man curled up next to him eases him awake.
With Dean's arm drapped around him and his face curled into his neck, it's hard to want to move. But with a sigh, he decides to save Dean his dignity and sneaks out of his grasp.
Dean immediately moves into the abandoned warmth, which makes him smile slightly, but doesn't otherwise seem to notice.
Thomas tiptoes out of the room, completely willing to forget this ever happened.