Chapter 7

"So, take for example (x-3)². It is essential to remember that (x-3)² is not equal to x²-9. Uhm. Dean? I'd suggest you write that down."

"What? Oh. Right. Sorry. I didn't mean to stare at you. Drifted off there for a moment. I'm totally writing it down now. There, got it."

"Good. Then let us continue with how to divide expressions in Algebra. The first examples I'll show you involve simplifying and canceling. Uhm. Simplifying and canceling, Dean. Remember to take notes."

"Yes, sorry, simplifying and… channeling, was it? Er…"

"Do I—do I have something in my face? Maybe some paint, I've fixed the cottage's fence earlier. I've been planning to do that ever since I moved here. Actually—oh, that's the phone. I'll be right back. Meanwhile, uhm, try and solve the problems 1-3 on page 6. Should I get you any kind of beverage from the kitchen, Dean?"

"Vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred."

Cas laughed.

Nailed it.

Dean watched Cas hurry off towards the kitchen to take the phone call. Simultaneously, Dean watched Cas' spotty grey shirt creep up a few inches, revealing some pale, smooth skin underneath. What a random observation that was. Because Dean hadn't been staring at Cas' backside or anything. Just as he had most definitely not eyeballed Castiel during whatever Algebra thing he had just explained before the phone had—mercifully—interrupted them. He had not been staring at Cas' lips or anything.

Desperately trying to scramble up some motivation, Dean moved his gaze back on the exercise book lying in front of him. He was sitting at Castiel's big oak table, a half-emptied bag of chips lying to his right. To his left was a pile of notes. The rest of the table was covered with hundreds of worksheets. Well, maybe not hundreds but a very intimidating amount of math anyhow.

Three days had passed since Dean had skipped school on Monday—but on the bright side had managed to smooth things over with Lisa. He then had actually gone to school on the following two days and even today, Thursday, he had in fact attended all of his classes. He was rather proud of himself. Until he remembered that, oh, he had still continued to ditch math. Which was surely not something he was proud of.

The test Cas had told him about last Friday—when he'd invited Dean over for studying—was finally due tomorrow. Dean knew that there was no way he could afford flunking any tests. Just as he knew that he couldn't afford skipping math forever. I'll resolve the problem as soon as I can, Cas had said. Thanks to Dean's more and more perfected Cas avoidance skills, however, he'd made it difficult for him to resolve anything. Because until Dean finally managed to lay off his newest late night jacking off habit, he had planned to delay the 'getting on with it' part to a later point in time.

Unfortunately, on Wednesday afternoon, Cas had finally more or less caught Dean leaving the house to go grocery shopping. He had asked Dean if he'd thought about his offer from Friday and if he'd like to learn about some math shit. Of course those hadn't been his exact words.

And now here they were.

Studying.

Except that—even after a good two hours—Dean still had no idea what the test was even going to be about. Not when Cas was—well, being Cas.

Dean looked around the living room. Cas' cottage was a little smaller than the Winchester's, but the lack of clutter, useless decoration and unneeded furniture made it seem pretty spacious nonetheless. There was a crammed bookshelf, a small, red couch, an ancient, tiny TV, a large bed and, of course, the big oak table. And that was basically it, overlooking a few piles of books and sheets, some scattered clothes and a reasonable amount of trash lying around.

When Dean had first been here, he'd thought the place lacked personality… and warmth, generally. Actually, it just lacked Cas. But he had only lived here since the end of June, after all, so that wasn't too unusual. Possibly, he'd simply chosen to leave his old life and old stuff behind when he'd come to St. Tipper. Or something. It wasn't like Dean was that interested in Cas' former life and wondered about what he'd done before the entire time.

Dean heard Cas' voice rambling in the kitchen, but couldn't make out any of his words. Only the slight distress in his voice. Dean couldn't help eavesdropping. He wasn't that interested in him, really wasn't, but… he didn't know anything about Cas' social environment, if such existed that was ("I learned to live with solitude", Cas had said last Friday, Dean suddenly remembered), and he was beyond curious.

"Like I just said, no", Cas said. "I highly doubt that there are any dance clubs in… what?"

Cas stepped out of the kitchen, and Dean automatically switched to pseudo-reading the papers in front of him. Shooting a quick glance at Cas over his shoulder, Dean didn't think he even cared. He was whirring around the room, a glass of water in one hand, and with the other one he was pressing the receiver to his ears. His face the epitome of stress and confusion.

"I don't understand. I am not familiar with any kind of poultry dance, and I certainly don't—what's so funny?" Cas furrowed his brows and gave Dean, who was now observing the scene unashamedly, an exasperated look, as if to say: Kill me now. "Listen, I am very busy at present, so I'd like to continue now if you don't mind", Cas harshly cut off the laughter on the other end.

The other person replied something, and Cas tilted his head. Then, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"Yes, that's what I just said: I'm busy. It's not a misleading term, I believe. What? Yes, in fact I do have a visitor, therefore I suggest we'd leave it at that."

He paused next to Dean, putting his hand on the back of his chair. "Here you go", Cas whispered to Dean, putting the glass of water down on the table. Dean was distracted by Cas' sudden closeness—his friggin' neck, man—and automatically, he reached for the glass and took a sip. And then spit it all over the exercises. It was vodka. Vodka martini, probably. Dammit, Cas.

"Thanks", Cas spoke into the receiver, not really taking notice of Dean's choking noises. "You—you too. Goodb—what?"

The voice on the other end spoke again. Now, Dean was stunned by the sight of Cas going redder than red.

"N—no", Cas stuttered. "I mean, yes, I do remember it, don't repeat it, please. This is—something else. No advice required. Good-bye, Balthazar."

Abruptly, Cas hung up and placed the phone on the table—more like threw it—and then paused for a moment, collecting himself.

Dean smirked. "What's the problem, James Bond newbie?"

Cas shifted, avoiding any eye-contact.

"My brother, 'Balthazar'. He wanted to inquire about my health. Hear how I am doing at this place. He also wanted to give me advice on—never mind. He was mistaken. Excuse my turbulence, Dean, my brother always has this strange impact on me." He ran his fingers through his hair, and stopped with a wave of his hand. "Anyway. Let's proceed with our mathematical journey through the secrets of unknowns and odds, shall we?"

"Hold on", Dean chuckled. "Easy, Cas. You can't mention your brother for the first time and then expect me to just leave it at that. Who is he?"

Cas sighed and rolled his eyes. "He's an entertainer. That is his job, but I like to say he hardly casts off his work gear. He's ostentatious, quick-tempered", Cas listed stoically, "and has no boundaries, really. Hammingham is his residence. He is celebrating his birthday in a few days and I urgently need a present. And he decided to 'visit' me tomorrow evening. And that would be who he is. Now…"

Cas averted his gaze at the exercises again. Determined to go on with simplifying and challenging or whatever. That crap was the last thing on Dean's mind right now.

"Let's go buy one", Dean said, eyes glowing with excitement. "Now. I know exactly what a guy like him would need. He sounds like the grown up version of my best friend. Trust me with this, it's gonna be perfect."

For a moment, Cas just looked him over, reluctance and regret written all over his face. Something about Dean's expression seemed to be convincing, to some descent at least.

A minute later, Dean strolled up to the cottage's door and Cas threw on his beige trench coat.

Dean slammed the passenger door shut, fastened his seat belt and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing his goddamn fringe out of his eyes. Today had been a pretty hot day and his hair strands were kind of shaggy and oily—really, he normally wasn't the self-regarded kind of guy, but the way his crazy fringe frustrated him to no end. Especially while Cas was around. Cas shouldn't have to see that.

On the driver seat, Cas dug the car key out of his stained jeans' pocket and started the engine.

Or rather tried to. The motor stuttered for what felt like hours, before Cas, with an annoyed "not again", turned it down.

"That happens sometimes. It usually starts at the second try", Cas explained, distracted.

Being interested in cars—especially classic cars like this one—Dean thought of dropping an expert-ish comment, to maybe impress Cas a little bit. He couldn't come up with anything that wasn't totally obvious, though. The brown Chevy was a battered old car, all dusty and ill-kept. Its last inspection had probably been ages ago. So, Dean simply watched Cas, feeling useless.

Cas was just leaning forward, all concentrated, and swiveled the key again.

The way he bit his bottom lip while doing it was pretty nice, Dean thought.

And how he now ran his tongue across it... even better—

Sonofabitch.

Dean jerked forward. This time Cas had managed to cause a heavy backfire.

Dean was held in place by the seat belt, and Cas' nose brutally dashed against the steering wheel.

"Dammit", Dean groaned, struggling to break free. "You alright, Cas?"

"My nose is bleeding."

Cas was frowning at the sight of his bloody fingers, not making any move to do something about it, though. Quickly, Dean pulled a wadded tissue out of his leather jacket's pocket and handed it over to him.

"Used it once to get rid of a chewing gum."

Without hesitation, Cas pressed it against his nose. Soon enough, the bleeding stopped. He then made a clumsy attempt at cleaning his own face, and Dean watched him. The look on Cas' face was priceless—it was the same one he always pulled while considering one of Dean's exceptionally stupid mathematical questions that no one else would take seriously.

"Wait a sec", Dean said, eventually.

Without thinking twice about it, he snatched the tissue out of his hand. Well, he had to help him do the job. Otherwise they'd probably still sit here by closing-time.

He guided the tissue to another spot, one just under Cas' lips. Not because he wanted to touch them, or stare at them, but to help him, remember?

"Jeez, your chin looks like some battleground during World War II", Dean blurted out.

Cas flashed him a doubtful glance.

Dean continued wiping his face, and in case it looked like he took some extra time with his lips, then it wasn't true. When it looked like the tissue was senselessly lingering there, because he considered feeling them, then that was just… bull-shit. He wanted to make sure that his friend wouldn't walk around with blood stains on his mouth. That was all. Still, Dean's middle finger twitched awkwardly when Cas suddenly started frisking his own lips, concerned, and their hands briefly collided.

"Is it… so dirty?" Cas asked. "It must be really severe. Is there a cut?"

"N—no", Dean stuttered, and quickly pretended to clean Cas' face here and there, even though it was already clean, looked just as perfect as any other day. "No, it ain't that bad. Y'know, without your teacher power you're basically just", he blabbed to fill the strangely intimate moment, "a baby in a trench coat."

Dean dropped back into his seat, blushing.

Cas, luckily, didn't get what had just happened. Well, at least he didn't comment on it. Dean peered hard at him, and all he did was frowning, and frowning some more, before eventually giving up on whatever he was thinking about and fiddling with the key again.

This time, the engine started perfectly, as if it was making fun of Dean.

Soon, the duo rolled down Fleeing Deer Street.

"So, where are we going?" Cas asked while changing into second gear.

Staring out of the front window—a baby in a trench coat, God, he was so embarrassing—Dean thought about how to explain the route.

"Do you know that little shop at the cross-roads Riff-Raff-Road and Hunted-Hedgehog-Avenue? The one that sells writing materials?"

Cas hesitated. "I believe, yes."

"Good. We're visiting the shop next door to it."

By the time the two of them made it back to their street the sun was already setting, painting the wide sky above St. Tipper in an apocalyptic color combination of red, black and orange. Cas unlocked the door of his cottage, and Dean carried in the bag with Balthazar's gift and a large pizza box, bought on the way back at the only Italian place in town. Among the people it was generally agreed that the existence of a pizzeria in St. Tipper was kind of a miracle in itself—the flawless quality of the dishes only put the cherry on the cake.

"I don't rightly know, Dean", Cas said while taking off his trench coat and shoes. "Usually, I would send my brother a plain postcard or a commendable book I've read. This present you chose is going to surprise him."

"Congrats, Cas, you've just learned the idea behind birthday presents."

With a chuckle, Dean served the cheesy tomato pizza on Cas' dining table, only slightly weirded out by the domestic feeling blooming in his chest. Because all of this felt like coming home together with him. Dean ignored the thought with all that he had. The mouth-watering pizza smell had driven him crazy the whole car ride.

"Cas, now stop giving yourself a headache and grab a slice, 'kay?"

Cas obeyed, and sat down next to him. While they were eating, Dean listened to Cas' vague and reluctant description of Balthazar. His brother lived about four hours from St. Tipper and was visiting for the first time since Cas had moved here, he told Dean, and sadly Cas hadn't been fast enough earlier to come up with an excuse. The more Dean heard, the more he felt like Cas' dubious brother was the complete opposite of Cas. But it was hard to fully focus on their conversation when every slice tasted like heaven.

Ever since Monday, Sam had stuck to his nutty hippie idea, and had developed the habit of buying loads and loads of vegetables on his way home from school every friggin' day. By now, their small kitchen was overstuffed with absurd amounts of undefinable green stuff, and Sam was always running around with gross looking things that he called vegetable sticks or almond milk.

Maybe it was because he'd been starving all week, but Dean was pretty sure that on this Thursday evening in Cas' cottage, he was having the best pizza of his life.

"God", Dean moaned with a mouthful of cheesy goodness. "This feels so good." He closed his eyes and sent silent prayers skywards, enjoying every fatty, unhealthy bit. He had to control himself not to stuff the whole slice down his throat all at once.

"Well, it certainly has a delicate flavor. It's my favorite", Cas commented, a smile in his voice. "You should try putting two slices on top of each other, it's twice the pleasure. See, like this."

Dean watched Cas squishing the toppings together, and the grease seductively ran down his fingers as he handed the last two slices over to Dean, who greedily grabbed them and had a taste of the dripping sandwich.

"Jesus Christ", Dean chewed. "I think I'm gonna pass out."

Cas grinned at him with satisfaction. "Yes, I like it, too. I learned that from the pizza man."

"Bless him", Dean moaned, luckily not noticing that adorable grin—he would've choked—and downed the pizza sandwich in what felt like under ten seconds. "If Sam knew 'bout this, he'd definitely kill me. He's kind of going through a weird spiritual phase right now. Seems to think he's a saint or something. Live and let live, or whatever, he's totally nuts."

Cas thoughtfully cocked his head. "I think your brother is perfectly sane, Dean. He's a clever kid. I'm sure he wouldn't act without due consideration."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, sure. He's desperately tryin' to go along with his girlfriend's girly ideas, that's what he's doing." Dean crossed his arms, grumbling. "Tryin' to keep her. Doesn't have his own mind or something. He's probably just with her 'cause he's scared of being alone, anyway."

Cas furrowed his brows, staring at the table surface. "You're not alone, Dean. You have me."

Surprised, Dean looked at Cas. "I—I know, Cas. I was talking about Sammy."

Cas just nodded, resigned. "Sure you were."

Dean's mouth fell open.

Hesitantly, Cas looked up.

Dean swallowed, suddenly nervous, and grabbed for the glass of vodka that was still standing on the table, abandoned. Without hesitation, Dean downed the clear liquid, Cas silently watching him. Crap, shit was strong. It brought tears to Dean's eyes, but for some reason, he didn't want to let it show.

"Did you like it?" Cas asked.

"Yeah", Dean croaked, pressing his eyes shut. "Yum. Just gotta love straight vodka."

Cas smiled, looking down. "I've found a liquor store downtown a few days ago. Do you know which one, Dean? It looked abandoned, and to be honest, quite sad. I would have felt bad if I hadn't bought something, that one time I've walked past it. So, I just went inside and bought this one bottle. The owner looked quite surprised, I recall. It felt nice to do that, Dean. It was a strange experience, really."

"You're too good for this world", Dean said, half-jokingly.

Cas glanced at Dean, shyly, and his smile became even cuter.

Dean happily blamed the hot sensation in his guts on the booze.

"I've missed this", Cas said, quietly.

Dean instantly knew what he meant. "Missed what?"

"This." Cas made a brief gesture with his hand. "You."

Dean's mouth went dry. "Cas—"

"Friends are allowed to say this, aren't they, Dean", Cas said, his smile slowly vanishing.

"Yeah", Dean croaked. "Sure they are."

Cas hesitated. "Did you miss me, too?"

Dean blushed, rubbing his neck. Cas seemed tense, awaiting his answer. "Of course I've missed you, Cas, I love hanging out with you and stuff. You know I do."

"So, did you think about me, too? I mean—a lot?" Now, Cas was looking seriously stressed-out. "Is this normal, Dean? Is this—"

"Shower, bed, wherever, it's pretty normal, Cas, if that's what you're asking", Dean rattled off, furiously flushed now.

"Oh", Cas made, pondering for a second. Then he fell back in his chair, chuckling. "Oh. I'm—I'm relieved. Because ever since last Friday, Dean, I'm having trouble controlling my body. It's never been like this before. Yesterday morning, in the shower, I was—"

"Yeah, thanks, Dr. Phil, but we don't talk about these things", Dean quickly tossed in. "People don't do that."

Cas hesitated, and Dean felt his confused eyes on him, heavy as lead. "I—I didn't know that, Dean. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. You're red all over now. My apologies. From now on, when we're talking, I promise I'll give my erections a wide berth."

Dean closed his eyes. "Great. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"So, anyway, Sammy and his veganism", Dean awkwardly began, leaning on his elbow. This was probably his wonkiest topic change to date. "I've been thinking, perhaps he's just trying to get Dad back for leaving us. I mean, after all, he's been gone for—uh."

Dean stopped, swallowing, only now realizing that he actually didn't talk about these things. Cas and his friggin' erections, man.

"For how long?" Cas asked, concerned.

Dean avoided his look and shifted on his chair.

"Two weeks", he muttered, barely audible.

Cas narrowed his eyes, leaning slightly forward. "What?"

"Two weeks. I said, two friggin' weeks, okay?" Dean snapped and jumped up from his chair, almost knocking it over. He stood, facing the ground, embarrassed. "Look, I really don't wanna talk about this, Cas, it's just that you're making me crazy right now, and honestly I don't even know what I'm saying. This is between me and Sam. It's nothing. We're fine. And I need to go back to Sammy now, anyway."

Hectically, Dean began gathering his math equipment from the table, stuffed it into his backpack, all the while intently studied by that concerned look.

"You're leaving?" Cas asked. Dean must've imagined the huge amount of disappointment in his voice. "I mean, uhm, do you feel well-prepared for the test tomorrow? I'm afraid we could have practiced more."

Cas followed Dean to the door like a puppy, and eventually, Dean turned around to meet his puppy eyes. Immediately, Dean felt like an ungrateful piece of shit.

"Sure, I think I've caught the basics", Dean lied, faking a smile. "That'll do, I guess."

"Good, good", Cas mumbled to himself, before pointing out the elephant in the room. "And—will you be there? Can I… count on your attendance tomorrow morning?"

The question hung between them for a moment, and Dean felt sort of overwhelmed, mostly because of the blueness of Cas' eyes.

"Yes, I, uh… Yeah. Count on me."

Dean turned to leave and was halfway out the door, when Cas' reached for his arm. He didn't just reach for it, oh no, but he pulled him closer, pulled him back in, and for a strange second Dean thought Cas was going to kiss him or something. Strange, because Dean wasn't even surprised, as if part of him had waited for it to happen all afternoon. He didn't kiss him, though. Hell, of course not. But his lips were pretty damn close.

"I'm sorry that I've made you uncomfortable, Dean", Cas blurted out, dropping his voice. "I promise, I won't ask you about your father again, if that is not what you want. And I know being in class with me is not what you want, either, but Dean, I—I think we're doing proportionately okay so far with 'getting on with it'. So please, just—do it for your brother. And be there with me tomorrow. Can you do that?"

"Yes", Dean croaked, paralyzed. "I can—do that."

"Good. I'm trying to save you from trouble, Dean", Cas went on, quiet. "Always. But I have only limited options. And Crowley cannot be fooled. I've been trying to stay one step ahead of him to—to keep him away from you."

Dean's look swayed between those pitch-black pupils, disbelieving.

Dean's mouth formed inaudible words, and he didn't know why or when, but he found himself staring at those lips again.

Then, Cas let go of him, and Dean nearly stumbled into his arms. Dean let out the air in his lungs with one long sigh, and then gasped for breath, not even aware that he had been holding his breath. He rubbed his sore arm, an automatic gesture, and stepped backwards, slowly.

"Thanks, Cas", he muttered, before breaking the stare by swinging around.

He left Cas alone at the doorstep, but kept him in his mind for hours and hours, even while…