Chapter 6

"You know, Dad's probably gonna call soon, like", Sam changed his voice to a mere growl, "boys, when the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, when the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves, then I will return, and not before".

Despite his awkward I-cuddled-with-Cas-all-night mood, Dean couldn't help but laugh, and with a big yawn, Sam returned to his current task of sweeping the floor. The brothers spent the next hour or so clearing out the mess they'd made the previous night. Although it was, admittedly, unlikely that Dad would return today, as he'd vaguely said he would, Dean and Sam knew better than to take any risks.

The trash bag with the spilled popcorn in one hand, Dean eventually pulled out his phone, remembering that maybe he should check if Lisa had texted him after last night's—mildly put—unpleasant parting. However, he hadn't received any messages from her, and just when Dean tried to gather some inspiration for one of his phenomenal apology texts, Gabe texted him.

last night was HILARIOUS! can't believe we got high with our friggin MATH TEACH jfc

Dean froze. It only occurred to him now that while yes, theoretically they could be in trouble, Cas could be off much, much worse. In fact, if one of them told anyone about what had happened last night, it could entirely ruin Cas. Hell, how was Cas supposed to know that none of them would go straight to the principal and tell some kind of bullshit story à la "Mr. Novak forced us" or "he made us do stuff for him"?

Breaking into cold sweat, Dean hastily texted Gabe back.

look man u can't tell anyone about what happened last night. cas could get into serious trouble and so could we btw

Gabe replied only seconds later. who's cas?

Dean felt like slapping himself. mr. novak. promise, ok?

what kind of weird ass name is cas? and don't get your panties in a twist, dean-o

Without giving himself time to think about what he was doing, Dean threw the trash bag containing the spilt popcorn over his shoulder and slipped into his worn out trainers. Then, with a quick "I'll be right back, Sammy", he rushed out the door. He needed to set things straight, needed Cas to know that he was safe. And—perhaps—apologize for his dick behavior from earlier. Praying for Cas not to be too mad at him, or worse, treating him distantly, he scudded down the hill.

Cas sat on the doorstep.

A pitch-black aura radiated off him, causing Dean to slow his pace. Cas didn't look up as Dean approached his cottage, just continued staring into space, and the sight felt like a knife between Dean's ribs.

With a flat voice, Cas spoke up. "There's a pizza on the White's roof."

"A what?" Dean turned around and saw that, yes indeed, there was a pizza lying on their neighbors' roof. "Yeah, I think they're fighting quite a lot lately, Mr. and Mrs. White. At least that's what their son Flynn told me. Walt Jr., I mean, that's what he's called. Prefers to be called Flynn, though."

Cas didn't respond. Instead, his eyes fell on the bag of popcorn Dean was carrying.

"You saved the popcorn."

"Oh. Oh, well, yes, I figured you might wanna feed it to some squirrels or something."

Cas simply took the bag, hugged it to his chest and fell into silence again. His strange behavior only increased Dean's worries.

Dean took a deep breath. "Anyway, man, I just wanted you to know that neither Sammy and me nor Gabe and Jess, none of us is gonna tell anyone about what happened last night, okay? There's nothing to be concerned about. Seriously, you don't have to worry that one of us runs straight to Crowley and tells him some bullshit story à la—"

Cas' suddenly firm voice interrupted him. "That one of you tells the truth?" He finally looked up and met Dean's gaze. "That I not only supported my students' underage drinking and drug use but also joined them. Me. Your teacher. And not to mention that I made you, Dean, kiss me."

Dean's heart stopped. "You didn't make me—"

Cas looked at Dean as if he'd just tossed in an insult. "I did, Dean. I should have left. I should have left after giving you the exercises for Sam. But instead, I stayed and asked you all of these questions. You're right for regretting this, Dean."

"Cas, listen, I don't—"

"Dean, I was hard for you. It hurt. It took me hours to fall asleep next to you, but for all of that I still did not leave. Who does something like that?"

Dean really didn't know what to say to that.

He blushed, violently, rubbing his own arm.

"I'm afraid, highly unprofessional doesn't even cut it, Dean. It was completely irresponsible. All of it."

Cas' voice was dripping with self-disgust. Helplessly, Dean watched Cas put his head in his hands as if it was too heavy for him to carry.

"I also gave your words further thought, Dean, and I see what you meant now. Even when I am feeling differently, I should always treat you like only a friend. And nothing more than that. Even though, technically, I shouldn't even be your friend. And I shouldn't touch you the way I did. Last night, I had no control over my actions, and I hardly drank any alcoholic beverages. So, I cannot blame anyone or anything but myself."

"You could blame me", Dean eventually brought out, quietly.

"What?" Cas squinted at him, confused. "No. You did nothing wrong. And you've been highly intoxicated."

"So what, Cas?" Dean called out, more firmly now, eyes gleaming. "I wasn't fall-down drunk. I'm not a friggin' saint, man. I fuck up, too. It's what I do. It's what everyone does!"

Cas swallowed, looking down at the stony ground. "Dean. You only kissed me like a friend. It was me who proposed the movie kiss."

Dean clenched his fists. "Yeah, but I don't exactly remember me running away from that, either. And, well, I sure as hell don't have boners for my friends, Cas!"

Cas hesitated. He blinked. "But you told me we were just—"

"I was talking bull-shit, Cas, okay! I do that."

A frown formed on Cas' face. Then, he nodded. "Ah, yes. Lying. Sometimes you do it sarcastically. Last night you've been lying on purpose, I guess, to avoid hurting my feelings, because you surely don't feel the same way that I do. I should have noticed. My apologies."

"Cas." Dean was beside himself, hands shaking. "What are you—what are you apologizing for now?"

Cas smiled, sadly. "For my stupidity."

"You're not—forget it." Dean forced himself to calm down. "Just don't ever say that you shouldn't be my friend."

"But I shouldn't, Dean. Not when I… feel these emotions when I'm with you."

"Well, damn, Cas, have you ever stopped to wonder if maybe I feel them, too? Have you ever really thought that through before just deciding that I don't?"

Cas tensed. Dean's angry exclamations were echoing in his own head. Part of him cringed, because feelings, and what was he even doing, but fear prevailed over it. Dean stared at Cas, desperately awaiting his reaction.

Then, after a few seconds of consideration, Cas just broke out in giggles, shaking his head. "Good one, Dean. You really had me there for a second."

"Cas—"

"Maybe we should stop seeing each other."

Within a split second, Cas' face was all blank again.

"What?" Dean repeated, eyes going wide. His bottom lip was trembling. He's breaking up with me, Dean couldn't help thinking. "No, no—no, Cas. That's not—that's not even up for debate. Never say that again. Don't you dare ever say that again, d'you hear me?"

Cas made big eyes at him, blinking. "Dean, I don't know what else to do."

"Well!" Dean wildly gesticulated with his hands. "We'll just get on with it! It's not the friggin' biblical apocalypse, right? A few days from now we'll laugh about all of this."

Cas gave a weak smile. "I doubt that. But all right, Dean. I suppose we can try 'getting it on'."

For a second, Dean just stared at Cas, baffled, until even though his eyes were filled with tears, he couldn't stifle a choked laugh at that.

"Get on with it, Cas. It's 'get on with it'."

"Oh. Well, that, then."

Apparently everything being said, Cas went silent once again, mind disappearing to some, no doubt, rather ugly place.

While Dean thought—hoped—he'd managed to prevent the worst, seeing Cas like this, shattered, with these glassy eyes, intensified the hollow feeling in his stomach. Dean should comfort him, or something, be there for him, but it just didn't feel right in this moment.

"Just don't tell anyone", Cas then whispered, wearily.

"I won't", Dean croaked, a lump in his throat. "None of us will. Scout's honor."

Cas just nodded. "Goodbye, Dean. I'll see you in class on Monday."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. See you, Cas."

The rest of the weekend passed rather unspectacularly.

All Sunday, the rain came down in sheets, annulling Dean's half-assed idea of breaking the silence between him and Lisa by showing up at her house unannounced. Although such an action would've calmed the waves easily between them, Dean took the weather as a bad sign.

All right—truth be told—he just needed a break from her.

Didn't even know what to tell her.

Every once in a while, Dean caught himself staring out the window, trying really hard to think about anything else but Friday night, but the images of the night with Cas just kept coming back like they were the most important thing in the world. They weren't, though. Staring down rain-swept Fleeing Deer Street, the brown Chevy marking the same spot all weekend, making Dean wonder what Cas was up to all by himself—but no, they weren't.

There was still some other stuff, like—

—Sam.

It was Sunday evening, Sam was serving some healthy-ass dinner he'd cooked, and an unspoken question was hanging in the living-room's air.

Where the hell's Dad?

Dean was already pissed-off, and the food on their small, shaky dining table in front of him didn't exactly brighten his mood.

"What kind of sick meat is this?" Dean picked at the vegetables. "And what makes you think I wanna eat broccoli?"

"It's not meat, it's tofu", Sam stated defensively, as if that was an excuse. "And I think you could use some real food for once. You know, there's more to life than stuffing yourself with pie and fries every single day. It's called taking responsibility, Dean. You've probably never heard of it."

Dean pulled a disgusted face. "The fuck, Sammy? Did Jess ram that hippie bullshit down your throat?"

Sam laughed out a little too loud to be convincing. "Uh, no? I've always hated eating meat, Dean. I'm done with it. And by the way", Sam paused, avoiding Dean's doubtful stare. "I'm vegan now."

Dean snorted, receiving a glare from Sam. "The hell does that even mean? Is this some kind of rebellion against Dad?"

"No, Dean. I just happen to have a heart for animals."

"Says the one who's once shot two deer in one day and rejoiced over it."

"Shut up, jerk." Sam crossed his arms. "I was nine."

"Whatever, man. Just leave me out of your girly stuff. Thanks to you I'll starve to death tonight, bitch", Dean hissed while getting up from the table.

Sam was flabbergasted. "What, you're shooting your dinner now?"

Dean stopped to sneer at his brother. "Don't cry, Sammy. I'm getting the mail."

When he unlocked the mail box, a post card fell in his hand. Dean frowned and had a close look at the strange imprinted illustration. There was a drawing of a moose, its eyes drawn as black crosses. Below it, Dean read: Greetings from Great Sandstone "Bloodbath" Forest!

"What the…"

He turned the post card around, perplexed, and skimmed the flipside. He knew the scratchy handwriting too well.

Hello boys,

I won't be back soon, I'm sorry. Seems like I'll have to figure out some things about myself first. So far, it's been a successful hunt (see picture on front). There's a poor signal up here, so I can't call you, but I'm sure you'll manage all right. Don't spend all my money while I'm gone, boys! Always remember: Saving money, hunting deer, the family business.

See you around, Dad

There were grease spots all over the ridiculous message, and Dean shuddered in disgust. See you around my ass, he thought, before throwing it straight into the trash can.

Monday morning, the whole world looked like one giant trash can through Dean's eyes.

Ten long minutes he had waited for Lisa at their usual venue—the bus stop in the middle of St. Tipper main road—but she hadn't shown up. Not even after the third or fourth cigarette. What pissed him off the most about it was his lack of surprise. And—of course—the fact that he knew he deserved all of this.

He had tried to call her, but only pro forma. 'Cause when she was bitchy, she was seriously bitchy. Needless to say she hadn't answered the phone, either. What a great start of the day. It was just the best feeling ever when everyone plotted against you. Cas wasn't part of the conspiracy, however, and Dean would really love to hang out with Cas after school today to start with that. But—

—okay, laying it on the line.

He couldn't look Cas in the eyes anymore. Now less than ever.

Because Dean had spent almost the entire past night sleepless, thinking about Cas' fingers on his naked upper arm, purposely fondling him, Cas' lips on Dean's, even though it'd been only about one second, and, of course, Cas' dick. Cas being hard for him.

In the morning, Dean had taken about two hours in the bathroom, showering way too long.

The remaining way to school he spent breaking his head about what to say to Lisa in class, how to apologize, how to explain his rudeness from Friday night, how to explain the whole Cas thing—minus the smooch and boner parts, of course. He got a headache just picturing her touchy face.

There was only one conclusion that even stood a chance of calming her down. And that was no more lies. He needed to tell her the truth about exactly whom he'd spent most of his time during summer holidays with. That it was gorgeous, hot Mr. Novak they'd had their fight about. That he had been math guy. And that Dean hadn't told her all about him the very first time she'd asked, because—

Well. Dean could hardly tell her that he'd wanted Cas all to himself, could he. He couldn't tell her about his laughter lines, or that little snort he sometimes did while giggling about one of Dean's—admittedly—pretty awesome jokes. Dean could also hardly cite Cas' blue eyes as his reason.

Dean was afraid of her female intuition. That she would easily figure things out.

And big surprise, all those things scrambled up to one huge, insuperable pile of issues in his head, and—just entering the school yard—Dean decided to skip math class once again.

The heating room seemed like a better place, a problem-free zone.

"Mornin', son."

Bobby was currently busy stockpiling some wires. The room was pleasantly warm, a stench of sweat and pot and whiskey hanging in the air, and Dean quickly identified the tune playing in the background as Guantanamera.

Grumpily, Bobby dropped the wires and turned to Dean, wiping his forehead with an old cloth. "Look, mi hijo, I know I'm one fantástico old man, but you really need to focus on school more. Muy importante, Dean. What do you expect to happen down here, anyway? That I'll suddenly open my toolbox and disappear to Narnia?"

Dean shrugged. "Hey, buddy, I just wanna check on you, s'all. Heard you're kinda in trouble 'cause of your—your deliveries. Like, in real trouble."

Bobby grunted. "Well, I'm always in trouble, my friend. No reason to check on my ass every single day."

"Yeah, but", Dean replied, cautious not to make Bobby even grumpier. "But I was wondering if, you know, I have something to do with your newest trouble? 'Cause I'm always hanging out here and it's actually forbidden and stuff."

Bobby narrowed his eyes to slits. "Someone's developing a guilty conscience here, huh?"

Before Dean had a chance to reply, the two heard footsteps approaching.

Rash and determined.

"I bet that's Crowley", Dean breathed. "Bobby, I'm skipping math class right now. Have been for over a week. I'm kinda in a jam, and I don't think Crowley loves me being down here—"

"Balls", Bobby cursed while rolling up his sleeves. "Well, why don't you hide under my workbench for a minute then, son, 'cause I'm afraid shit's about to get ugly."

Mouthing 'Thank you' to Bobby, Dean quickly crawled under the workbench, almost squishing a fat black spider. He pulled his legs behind the second Crowley rushed in. Dean recognized his jet-black tax consultant get-up immediately. There was a moment of tense silence, and Dean pressed his eyes shut.

"Where is he? Where's the boy? Don't lie to me, El Cantante, this is serious", Crowley hissed, and started whirring all across the room.

"You blind, Crowley? He's not here. And as far as I remember, we came to an agreement about that last week. So, get outta my heatin' room, stalker. This ain't your territory."

"Excuse me?" Crowley swirled around, stepping closer to Bobby with his eyes screwed up. He poked Bobby's chest with one finger. "Everything you see, everywhere you go, the bloody air you're breathing, is my territory. You are my territory."

Bobby scoffed. "Yeah. Quit dreaming."

Crowley smiled, smugly. "That's quite funny, coming from you. El Cantante. The successful, exemplary janitor of the one school with the worst reputation within miles and miles of boring, gaping nothingness. The janitor who is going to lose his job whether he likes it or not!"

Dean saw Crowley stepping even closer to Bobby, intimidating him, his yell loudly echoing in the room.

"So, why don't you put that in your pipe", Crowley hissed, "and bloody smoke it."

Next thing Dean knew, Crowley breathed in sharply, and Dean felt the air going from tense to downright thick. In the background, the Spanish music doodled on and on. Dean winced at the sound of a nasty bang, almost knocked his head on the table surface above him, and was horrified at the sight of Bobby slamming Crowley against the wall.

"Thanks, camarada, but I like to choose myself exactly what I put in my pipes, and it sure as hell ain't none your steaming bull-shit."

Bobby had his arm pressed against Crowley's neck. Then, Bobby grabbed the collar of Crowley's black coat, and threw him hard against the opposite wall. It looked almost too easy, as if the man was a light weight. Or simply not fighting it at all.

Crowley cried out at the nasty collision, convulsing in pain, before Bobby made him shut up very effectively by smacking his face. Blood shot out of Crowley's nose, and he thumped down, landing on all forth. Bobby's sombrero flew towards the ground and awkwardly landed on top of Crowley's head.

For a moment, all Dean heard were his own heartbeat, Bobby's heavy breathing and Crowley's furious gasping.

"I don't think anybody's gettin' fired soon", Bobby concluded, tipping the sombrero from above. "What do you think?"

"No", Crowley growled. "Not fired. Murdered."

All of a sudden, the cellar door swung open. Dean hadn't heard anyone approaching. But then again, he'd been totally captured. Now, Dean's racing heart quite literally skipped a beat, because he saw brown leather shoes, black pants, and a tight white shirt, probably three or more buttons opened at the top—

"Hello, you must be the janitor."

Bobby took a quick step back, and Crowley stumbled back on his feet, straightening his coat.

Bobby coughed slightly. "Janitor, hopeless alcoholic, lazy bugger, I've been called worse."

"I—I hate to interrupt. I am Mr. Novak. Pleasure to meet you", Cas said, hesitating. "I've heard a lot about you from Dean."

"Dean", Crowley commented, biting voice. "What's it with this boy and older men? Looks like he's having an extramarital affair, El Cantante. Tragic. My sincerest condolences."

"Shut up, Crowley, will ya." Bobby turned to Cas. "What's the problem, friend?"

"It, uhm, it appears that we have a small problem with our classroom's TV cable. It may sound funny—and it truly is a strange given—but none of us seems to be able to properly plug it in. I was about to show my students a quite exciting animated movie. The Unlikely Adventures Of X And Z in Polynomia. It's a new release, and rather unknown. So, to change that, I'm afraid we'll need some assistance upstairs."

Bobby cleared his throat, and slowly followed Cas to the door. "Sure, claro, I'll take care of that."

"Mr. Novak, not so fast, my dear", Crowley spoke up, charmingly, all pulled together again. Except that his face was smeared in blood. "I have intended to talk to you tomorrow morning, but let's just bring this forward, shall we. It's about one of your students. Drum roll. Who could it be? The infamous Dean Winchester."

Under the workbench, Dean flinched.

Sonofabitch.

"It has come to my attention that his name hasn't been checked on your attendance list at all during the last week. Well, except for Monday. So, I wondered, what could possibly be up with that? Any secret information you're hiding from us, sweetheart?"

"There is no us", Bobby grumbled in his beard.

Cas didn't reply straight away.

"Yes, I", Cas stuttered, and Dean could hear his frown. "I've noticed that, too. I will personally resolve this problem as soon as I can."

Dean stiffened at that.

Cas chuckled, awkwardly. "Don't worry, sir, Dean is very good at math. He can be quite wayward sometimes, though, my Dean. I—I mean. Dean. Just Dean. But there truly is no reason to worry, Mr. Crowley, I do have control over the situation. There, uh, there have been some problems, admittedly, but now we've decided to 'get on with it', Dean and I."

Dean hit his head against the ground, rhythmically. Why—why—why.

"How very fascinating", Crowley said. "You're astonishingly quick at judging your students, sweetheart. I'm sure it takes more than one day of observing to see if a student is 'good at math' or not. But, now, unfortunately", Crowley added, ruffling his coat, "duty is calling. Nice chat, Mr. Novak. And please, do keep it up with those flatteringly tight pants. It's not often that we see such lovely back parts like yours around here."

"Thank you", Cas awkwardly said.

Dean stopped his head banging under the bench to dramatically roll his eyes.

God, how much he hated friggin' Fergus Crowley.

About five hours later Dean was back on his feet. He stood on St. Tipper Fishing Lake's waterfront, all alone, the chill breeze rushing loudly through the tree tops surrounding the wide waters. With every cold gust blowing through his hair, he shuddered. Fall was approaching. Hands dug into his worn-out jean's pockets, Dean bent down to take a look at his swirling reflection—and flinched at the sight of his own face.

Bird-nest like hair, dark under-eye circles, childish freckles spread all over his nose. Disgusted, Dean slowly backed off in the reverse direction to sit down on his good old favorite bench. Skillfully, he shook a cigarette out of his pack of smokes and struggled to block the wind off the flame. Eventually, he took a deep drag, leaned back, breathed out and immediately felt the nicotine calming him down.

In consideration of the circumstances, it wasn't a miracle that Dean had skipped not only math but all of his classes. After witnessing Bobby beating down Crowley, it was only justified that Dean needed some time out. It was sort of disturbing, knowing that their fight had been partly his fault.

And oh, there were of course some more good reasons, like Cas announcing his intention to finally put an end to Dean's math class phobia. Dean really hadn't felt like bumping into Cas in the hallway, not today, at least. And he hadn't been too eager on seeing Lisa, either.

So, Dean figured with dry humor, one last time for old time's sake.

Blowing smoke into the September air, Dean was busy making plans on how to get his shit together, until suddenly his vibrating cell phone broke through his train of thoughts. It was a message from Lisa, and he cautiously opened it with one eye screwed up.

hey. where r u dean? u ditched school again. let's talk, k?

With a strange mixture of fear and relieve, Dean typed.
sorry. i'm at the lake. come here?

A second later, Lisa replied shortly. i'll be there in 5.

One cigarette later, Lisa came towards the bench at a good pace. Her overconfident walk made Dean brace himself for a painful conversation and lots of accusations from her side, if she still had some new ones left after Friday evening, that was. Are you so sick of me? She would yell. Are you still hung up on your mysterious summer affair?

Wearing high black boots, a short jeans skirt, a close-fitting white jacket and a furious facial expression, Lisa admittedly looked intimidating to him. But he wasn't scared of Lisa, was he? No, at least not scared enough to freeze. Dean swallowed hard, screwed up his courage and decided to take the wind out of her sails before she had a chance to make it worse.

"Listen." Dean held up his hands. "I'm sorry, babe. I mean it. I'll explain."

Lisa stopped, eyeing him suspiciously. "Well, I'm curious", she stated, frigid.

"I don't want another fight, I really don't. Sorry 'bout the weed. If it upsets you that much, I swear, I'll never touch it again", Dean announced in a soothing tone, thinking: when you're around. He sure knew the right words, but that didn't mean he'd give away his freedom, all magic aside. At that, she first seemed to relax a bit, but then she furrowed her brows.

"You also promised to stop skipping classes. How can I believe you, Dean? You never visit math, God knows why. How can I trust you with this?" Her voice trembled and she cleared her throat, folding her arms. "Dean, I know that you're a smart guy, but one summer of private tutoring doesn't replace anything. You need to prove what you've learned, you know."

She sighed and stared at him, musing. Dean shrugged and turned away.

"Yeah, I know", he said, lamely.

Now they were back at the topic. Of course they were, as if it was poison that had contaminated their relationship forever. They fell into silence when he left it at that. He could practically feel the pressure strangle him, along with her stare poking his face, and as much as it scared him, he knew what he had to do.

Finally, Dean met her expectant eyes, groaning. "Look, let's not fight about the same thing again and again, 'kay? Here's the thing. Math guy has been no one but my neighbor—Cas. We're kind of… getting along."

He paused to check her reaction. Part of him expected her to grow stiff, and then shout: You're not fooling anyone, Dean, because the fact that it was him all along doesn't make it any better! You only visited him to fantasize about his sensual lips, didn't you?

But in reality… her reaction was nothing to make a song about.

"Oh, so it was him", Lisa muttered, surely surprised, but without the slightest sign of anger in her voice. "So…"

"So", Dean went on, quickly. "That was why I acted like a dick on Friday. When you said the thing about Cassie Robinson I laughed, because, well, for one thing I was wasted, and c'mon—that'd be just absurd, me and Cassie."

"Well", Lisa said. "She is pretty."

"Yeah, and so is Cas, but that doesn't mean I'm screwing him!"

At Dean's sudden outcry, Lisa winced. What the hell. Had Dean just said. He hadn't meant to say that. At all. It'd just sort of happened. He colored up to his ears, and there was nothing he could do about it, facing the ground. He felt Lisa's look boring through him.

"No", Lisa said, and Dean almost had a heart attack because at first she sounded so serious. But then, thank fuck, she giggled. "No, of course not, Dean. You're right. I guess I really was overreacting, and I'm sorry."

Dean awkwardly scratched his cheek. "Yeah. Yeah, no problem. Me too. It's been a strange week, 'kay, so just—don't be so hard on me, okay?"

"Okay, Dean." Touched by his honesty, Lisa stepped a little closer, and gently squeezed his arm, making Dean lightly flinch. She laughed, sounding relieved.

"'Summer affair', I said, remember? Silly me. So, you spent all that time with him? Gosh, why didn't you just tell me?"

"'Cause", Dean swallowed, face burning. For how long he'd been dreading this friggin' moment. "I dunno. You—you just made me feel weird about it. With what you said. 'Summer affair' and all. But no big deal."

Dean looked away. His heart was hammering in his chest, palms sweaty, and he inwardly cursed himself, because Lisa now stopped laughing. At first she didn't say anything in return. She just studied him—he felt it—and it felt as if she could see right through him. If she really could, then hell, it'd be over before he could count to three. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

Lastly, she exhaled.

"Oh, Dean. You're such a baby sometimes", she said, affectionate. "It's not gay to meet a private tutor, you know. Not even when he is as attractive as Mr. Novak."

With all force, Dean struggled to keep his face under control. He thought of 'You're hard, too, Dean', and 'I want to feel it. All of it'. Don't let her know. Don't let her know. He forced himself to return her gaze, embarrassed.

"So… we're okay?"

In response, Lisa wrapped her arms around his neck, sat down on his lap, and smothered his face with wet kisses, which was nice, but he really needed to know, he needed an answer. She backed off, smilingly, just far enough to look him in the eyes, and shook her head.

"Of course we're okay, you idiot."

She smiled and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, as if to stress her words. Pretty convincing, he thought, but he still didn't feel very relieved. It's not gay to meet him, sure… but cuddling with him all night? And sleeping better than ever before? Jacking off to the thought of him? Smooching him? How 'bout that? He pushed the thoughts away with all that he could, and tried concentrating on making out with Lisa instead.

Then, her lips made their way to his ear.

"Later…" She whispered. "We're going to do something absolutely not gay together. How does that sound?"

Dean wasn't sure if he had ever been so turned-off by a sentence in his life.